


The End Of The Road

by BruisedBloodyBroken



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dean Winchester, Samulet Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 19:30:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3948901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BruisedBloodyBroken/pseuds/BruisedBloodyBroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>9 weeks after sam & dean splitted up, dean receives a call from the hospital - when he arrives there, he can't believe what he finds. will he be ready for the task at hand? bruised ... bloody ... broken. not completely AU. </p><p>#broken!sam #hurt!sam #probably!torture #caring!dean #hurt!dean #caring!bobby ratedM for a reason</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Casey679](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Casey679).



> KUDOS to my amazing Beta CASEY for proofreading & making this story sooo much better, since my english isn't that well. 
> 
> She did an amazing job. it wouldn't be the same without her skills!
> 
> follow me on FB: facebook.com/bruisedbloodybroken  
> ;D

FIRST OFF:   
I want to thank LINDA H. for betaing the entire story! I gotta say, I'm impressed what she did with it.   
You can say, that the plot's still mine, but she proofread it & made it sooo much better!

Trigger warnings: Various chapters of this story contain descriptions of past and present torture, PTSD, and suicidal thoughts/actions.

Chapter 1 ~ Anger

Dean was asleep in the driver's seat, resting his head against his baby's cool window, when a quiet noise, slowly getting louder, gently raised him from the depths of slumber. At first he wasn't sure whether it was just his imagination, but the further he left sleep behind, the more real the sounds became.

Dean's neck was stiff and ached as he stirred and slowly opened his eyes. It felt like it was past noon; the windows of the Impala were fogged up, and it seemed pretty cold outside. Thankfully, it wasn't that cold inside the car. He sighed and moaned as he shifted into a more comfortable position in the seat.

The ringing noise ended the same moment that Dean reached for the glove compartment. But just a few seconds later, it started again -- coming from one of the many phones with an aggressive ring-tone. Dean rummaged among the phones until he felt the one that was vibrating. He slid it open without looking at the display; with his vision still blurry, he probably wouldn't have been able to make anything out anyway.

As he held the phone to his ear, he rubbed his free hand over his eyes. "Yeah?" he asked, his voice husky from sleep. Hunts were more tiring since he'd been on his own. There were a lot things he missed -- for starters, he had no backup. And having to do the research all on his own; Dean wasn't the geeky one. Of course, he'd bought himself his own laptop after he'd left, and of course he knew how to do proper research, but it wasn't what he needed.

Something entirely else was missing. His eyes moved over the empty passenger's seat, and a flood of mixed-up feelings rushed through him -- anger, wrath, disappointment, loss... sorrow.

"Hello?" A female voice asked firmly. "This is Nancy Summers from North Dakota State Hospital. Am I speaking to Dean Brown?"

"Yes..." Dean hesitated for a moment. His first thoughts went to Bobby, then Rufus...

"That's fantastic." Her voice sounded nearly relieved as she moved on. "Do you by chance know a Sam Young?"

Sam...

Dean hesitated again. "Yes, I know Sam," he replied tiredly, still far from being awake. "It's been a while since we had contact. Why? Is something wrong?"

It crashed into him -- State Hospital... Sam Young... one of his brother's fake IDs...

It'd been a while since they spoke the last time. A pretty long time, actually -- about nine weeks, now, since Dean had grabbed all his stuff and taken off, leaving Sam back at the motel.

"May I ask what your relationship is to him?" the woman asked, breaking through Dean's memories. This time she sounded more aware and cautious.

Dean's breath caught for a second. I'm his brother...

"He's my brother," he answered. Dean himself couldn't believe how unemotional he sounded. But Sam wasn't Dean's responsibility anymore. If Sam hadn't been hit by a bus, if he wasn't in serious danger, it was Sam's turn to deal with whatever he had to deal with. That was the agreement.

A sighed "Oh" came back from the other line. It seemed like the girl didn't know what to say next.

She seemed to think for a moment. "Does he have any other family... a mother or father, someone who could be responsible for him?" she asked. "We need an emergency contact."

"Umm... no, no, he doesn't. Why?" Dean's stomach turned upside-down. Nausea gripped him disturbingly and wouldn't let go. The way the girl asked about family, about a contact person...

No...

"I'm responsible for him." As the words left his lips, the knot in his throat tightened. Responsible... he still was, at least, in some fashion. "What happened?"

"I can't tell you what happened over the phone," she said immediately. "You need to get here and talk to one of the doctors first. I'm not allowed to..." Her voice sounded a little bit desperate, full of compassion.

"Could you please tell me what's going on?" Dean started to sound angry, although he didn't want to. "I'm not driving a hundred miles just because of a broken rib or leg. If it's something he can deal with on his own, you can tell him I'm not coming." Yeah, he was still full of anger at Sam. Full of wrath about his brother and himself, even though deep inside he felt empty... hollow.

They'd made it clear the last time they spoke: Cutting each other out of their lives for good.

"I'm sorry, sir." She paused. "I don't want to upset you. I can say that it's not just a broken bone he's dealing with -- I'm one of the nurses who take care of your brother." She paused again and sighed deeply. "I'm not allowed to give you any kind of information until you talk to a doctor. But what I can say is, it would be better for your brother to have someone familiar around him right now." Her voice grew more and more sorrowful as she ended her speech. "It took us the past seven days to even get a lead on someone who might know him. If we hadn't finally found your card in his jeans, we wouldn't have ever known there was someone who knows him." ...who cares about him, eventually...

Dean's mind struggled with all the information. What card? They'd both agreed to get rid of everything that could connect them to each other, each of them going their own way, dealing on their own with their hunts until the situation settled... until this whole Michael-versus-Lucifer thing was over.

What could that boy possibly have done to get in the amazingly awful situation it sounded like he had?

"Sir?" the girl asked, hesitatingly. "Maybe there's someone else who could assume responsibility besides you? An aunt or uncle? Any other siblings?"

It had to be pretty bad if his little brother hadn't been able to give them Bobby's number, or even talk about it to the hospital staff. Sam had to be badly injured.

A big stone filled his stomach as he came to this conclusion. Though they'd had their fight, and yes Dean was still damn angry about it and Sam's constant apologizing, he was still his brother nonetheless... He had to check up on him.

"No, it's fine. It's okay. He's my responsibility. So, can you tell me anything about his status?" he asked worriedly, most of his anger gone. "Is there anything you are allowed to tell me?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I-I can't," she said, even more sorrow in her voice. "It really would be better to talk to his doctor once you arrive."

It sounded like Sam was dying, like they'd just called so he wouldn't have to die alone.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dean asked impatiently. "Is he dying?"

Silence for a couple of seconds. It felt like eternity. Then the girl cleared her throat. "No, he's not dying... but..."

Dean heard the "but" from miles away -- like something that was worse than dying...

"I am not allowed to give you any information about your brother's status until you have confirmed in person you're his brother and a doctor has talked to you." She sounded apologetic.

Dean nodded. It had to be serious. If Sam wasn't able to take care of this -- if they were looking through his belongings -- it had to be damn serious.

"It'll take me a couple of hours to get there. I'm in the middle of nowhere," Dean said almost calmly, swallowed his rising uneasiness down.

"Take your time," the nurse said quietly. "No need to see you here as a patient instead of a visitor."

Dean hung up and stared at the phone. She said he should go there, that his brother needed someone familiar, but there was no hurry, he should take his time?! Pieced together, none of it fit. It obviously was serious enough to search for anyone who knew Sam. Serious enough that someone familiar should be around him right now. What the hell had happened? What had taken them so long to call him?

Sam would've phoned him... wouldn't he?

On the other hand, Dean had told him it was better if they stayed away from each other for good. That they should split up and not look back.

Dean bit his lower lip, then started the engine and hit the road.

Direction: North Dakota State Hospital.


	2. Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on facebook.com/bruisedbloodybroken

Chapter 2 ~ Reality

Dean thought a lot during the long drive. What had happened, and how? Was his brother even aware that the hospital called him, given that he couldn't, wasn't able to -- they'd had to find "Dean Brown's" card in his jeans...

At least Sam wasn't dying...

Dean didn't know what to think about it. He didn't know how to feel about it. What would Sam say when he got there? And what would he say to his little brother, after that fight...

Actually, it had been a pretty stupid fight. Yeah, it was the Apocalypse. Dean had started what Sam finished... finally. A couple of hours before his brother had killed Lilith, it would've made him proud that he did so. Damn freaking angels. Damn demons.

He and his brother were just puppets in the whole breaking-the-seals-thing. The angels had never had any intention of stopping the apocalypse. They wanted it to happen; they wanted the world to burn. It was its destiny.

Dean wasn't that good at talking -- ever -- and that fight had proved it. Sam had done nothing but apologize: Sorry for being a geek. Sorry for snoring. Sorry for getting up early in the morning. Sorry for using all the hot water. Sorry he went with Ruby. Sorry he killed Lilith. Sorry he wasn't able to get Dean out of Hell. Sorry for letting him down. Sorry for everything.

Dean had just wanted him to stop: Stop apologizing for what was pretty much both of their faults. Stop talking about it. Stop talking about anything else. Stop being around all the time.

* * *

Dean hurried into the hospital and up the stairs to the fourth floor nurse's station. His lungs burned from the climb. Slowly but surely, he was getting too old for this shit.

"Dean Brown?" a voice behind him rose.

"Yeah?" he replied, sucking in a deep breath and turning around.

A young woman wearing a nurse's uniform stood there. "Nancy Summers" was written on her badge. She looked at him with big brown eyes, hopeful and friendly.

"Good, you're here. I told Dr. Roberts that we'd found a relative. If you're ready, I'll page him?" she asked hurriedly.

As ready as he ever could be...

"You're the nurse I was talking to -- Nancy, right?" he asked with his most charming smile. He was hoping to get some more information out of her, since he wasn't exactly the patient type.

She nodded and moved over to the phone at the station, entering a pager number. "He'll be here in about thirty minutes. He said he'd come in as soon as you arrived."

Dean nodded. "So... in the meantime, you could tell me where Sam's room is." He looked questioningly, glancing over at the nurse's face.

Nancy's eyes narrowed as she looked up, unable to meet Dean's deep green eyes. "I think it's better if you wait for the doctor," she said calmly. "There are only a few members of the staff who go in there."

The hairs on Dean's neck raised and his heart skipped a beat. "Who go in there"... how bad was it?

"Including you?" Dean questioned, frowning.

Nancy nodded. "Me, Dylan and Dr. Roberts," she answered, still not meeting Dean's eyes.

Something had to be horribly wrong. What the hell could've happened in the past nine weeks?

"How long has he been here?" Dean asked, desperately looking for any kind of information.

Nancy looked up. "Nine days. We're glad that we found someone he belongs to. We hoped you were at least a good friend... since he was screaming your name at the beginning."

Screaming his name at the beginning? What the hell?

Had his little brother lost his mind?

* * *

After a long, stabbing silence between Dean and the nurse, Dr. Roberts showed up. Telling Nancy to wait for their return, he ushered Dean into his office. Dean took a seat facing the doctor.

Dr. Roberts studied the hunter for a little while before he started to talk. "So... you're Sam Young's 'brother'?" He gritted his teeth. "Can you prove it?"

Dean raised his right eyebrow and leaned forward. "If I wasn't his brother, I wouldn't be here." He slapped his personal ID for "Dean Brown" on the doctor's table. "We're half-brothers," he added, remembering that they had a different ID for Sam.

Dr. Roberts took a long look at the badge before he glanced back at the older Winchester. "I wanted to talk to you before you saw your brother," he started. "Has he ever had any... issues?" he asked, frowning and watching Dean for any suspicious reaction.

"What do you mean, 'issues'?" Dean asked back. Besides drinking demon blood and starting the a-freaking-pocalypse, anyway... The pit in his stomach grew with every second.

"He's never had any issues, physical or mental," he answered.

The doctor nodded and pressed his lips together. "Your brother was brought to us nine days ago. Our paramedics had to sedate him to get him here." He paused again.

"Sedate? Why? What the hell happened?" Dean started to get furious.

"We don't know for sure. The police had a lead on a couple of men who were wanted for several murders across the United States," he began slowly. "When the police went to arrest them, they discovered your brother in the basement, cuffed, bloody and bruised." He wrinkled his face in revulsion, then took a deep breath, shaking his head in sorrow.

"I want to see him," Dean said, beginning to stand up.

Dr. Roberts stopped the Winchester with a raise of his left hand. "I don't know if that's a good idea. He's afraid of everyone and everything. I' m not sure he will recognize you."

Dean's jaw dropped in disbelief and his eyes widened, face growing paler by the second. For a moment he couldn't believe they were talking about his brother.

"That's why just a couple of people are allowed to come near your brother." The doctor paused again, looking at his patient's brother. "How much time has passed since you were last in contact with Sam?"

"About nine weeks," Dean answered, biting his lip. He didn't mention the fight, since he thought it might lessen his chance of seeing his little brother.

"And what was your relationship with him like?" the doctor asked, looking at the older Winchester like he could peer through a wall into his soul.

"We're brothers, okay? We were close. Always. I raised him while our father was out on the road. I changed his diapers, and I watched him when he took his first steps. Are we clear?" Dean's voice rose with every word. "He's my responsibility and I. WANT. TO. SEE. HIM. NOW."

Dr. Roberts lifted his eyebrows, then nodded. He sat there for a moment in his leather chair as if he'd just looked straight into a bear's open mouth full of dangerous fangs.

"I just wanted to make sure that it wouldn't upset him more than he already is," he explained hesitatingly. "It probably may take some time before he recognizes you."

...If he recognizes you...

Dean nodded. "Can we go now?" he asked impatiently.

"I'll send Nancy with you. I think she's made the best connection with your brother." The doctor smiled slightly as they left his office. "She's the only one he's allowed to touch him."

Dean closed his eyes for a second, frowning, unsure of what he'd see.

* * *

Nancy was waiting, hope in her eyes, in front of a door with the number 57 on it.

"If he doesn't recognize you," the doctor reminded Dean, "give him all the time he needs, and don't push."

Dean looked into the doctor's bright gray orbs, trying to figure out what he was seeing. Disgust? Sorrow? Hope? Or maybe a mixture of all of them.

"It's dark in there," the nurse warned him. "We've just installed a small light, to help his eyes begin to get used to daylight again." Then she slowly opened the door.

"Sam?" Nancy asked quietly, pausing a moment before opening the door a little bit more. "I'm coming in now. And I have something for you." Her light voice and the way she talked to Sam warmed Dean's heart.

The nurse reached back and grabbed Dean's hand softly, pulling him quietly into the room with her and closing the door behind them.

"It's okay, Sam," she said gently. "I found your brother, hon."

Dean looked around. The bed was empty, seemingly untouched. The blinds were down, not letting even a little bit of the sinking sun in. And the small light in the right-hand corner opposite the door wasn't very bright. It didn't even illuminate half the room.

Nancy let go of Dean's hand and pointed to the left corner of the room. "There's his favorite place," she whispered.

Dean strained his eyes until he was able to make something out in the corner. Something that moved a little bit. At least, he thought he saw something move. He didn't know what to say, what to do. If they were truly talking about his brother, something was horribly wrong. Terribly wrong. This had to be a mistake.

An almost-silent sobbing filled the room as Dean started to move slowly to the corner. "Sam?" he asked, hesitating.

He badly wanted to call his little brother Sammy... but he remembered their fight, the things both of them had said to each other. He just couldn't call him Sammy right now.

"Sam, is that you?" he asked again, stopping about a yard in front of the darkened corner. He knelt down and reached his hand towards the darkness. "C'mon man, say something." Dean could hear the desperation in his voice. "Sam, please."

"He hasn't talked yet," Nancy said. "Not since he's been here. His CT was okay, so we still don't know why..." She stopped and hesitated for a couple of seconds. "It's probably just taking time. The trauma, you know? No one knows how long your brother was locked down in the basement, or what exactly was done to him, other than what we can tell from the bruises and wounds. We do know the oldest fracture had to have happened about seven weeks ago."

Dean's throat tightened, trying to ignore what Nancy was telling him for the moment and just concentrating on his brother.

"Sammy?" he asked gently, narrowing in on the corner a little bit, towards the hiding place in the dark. "It's okay. It's me."

The older Winchester saw a slight movement. Something reached out of the darkness -- a hand appeared in the faint light, reaching for Dean's hand. A fast touch, fingertips to fingertips, and then the hand pulled back.

"Sammy...?" Dean frowned. What the hell? His throat tightened and he swallowed hard. He felt tears in his eyes grow, and a giant stone settled in the pit of his stomach. He knew...

...it was Sam's hand.


	3. Silence

Chapter 3 ~ Silence

Dean got a room in some no-name-motel near the hospital, to be as near his brother as possible.

Anger rose in him. A different anger, not the one he felt when he'd been thinking about his little brother before. Anger about what had happened to Sam, about how he even could've thought this would end well for both of them. They were never stronger when they were separated.

Dean had called Bobby after leaving the hospital and getting the motel room. He'd talked to him for a long while. Well, it was more like listening at some points. Bobby didn't sound mad -- more caring than their dad ever would have sounded, probably. He said he'd get there in a couple of hours with information about the guys who had captured Sam.

So Dean had booked a room with two beds instead of one (and actually inspected the room before renting it, to be sure Bobby wouldn't have any issues with his wheelchair). He hadn't done this -- gotten two beds -- since he and Sam had split.

Now it felt like it was too late even to apologize. Too late for everything.

Bobby told Dean that he'd find out some stuff from the police about the guys who captured and tortured his little brother. Sam was alone in the building when the police squad entered it. That was the only information the older hunter had so far.

Tortured... how the hell could they both have been that stupid? How could they ever think splitting up was the best solution?

An indescribable pain rushed through Dean's chest. His heart felt like it was tearing apart and breaking into millions of pieces. The feeling of Sam's soft fingertips meeting his for not more than a second... The sobbing broken voice of his brother echoed in his mind. He couldn't think about anything else now...

Dean was used to turning to drinking -- whiskey, bourbon, whatever would make his pain go away. But this time he couldn't. He knew this kind of pain wouldn't go away, not even if he killed both bottles of the cheap whiskey he carried in his duffel-bag.

Whatever happened in the past, Sam hadn't deserved to be torn apart. He hadn't deserved to be beaten up. If someone did deserve to be tortured, it was him, Dean. He had let it happen. He was the one who had trusted that bag of dicks.

He'd trusted Cas.

He felt like it was all his fault now, even though he knew it wasn't. Trying to wash his pain away with alcohol wouldn't help Sam. It wouldn't make anyone feel better. He'd just end up sleeping off his drunkenness tomorrow instead of visiting his brother.

But it was Sam who had the demon blood. It was Sam who'd broken the last seal. It was Sam who had apologized more than once for it, taking all the fault on his shoulders, wrapping himself up in it. Pathetic...

STOP.

Dean was sorry for the things he'd said to his little brother back at that motel. Deep down, he probably hadn't even meant any of it. "You're a monster." That he was now one of the things he was used to killing. That he didn't know him anymore. That a part of Dean wanted his brother dead. That he was sorry for saving his sorry little ass all the time. And much more... Dean couldn't remember everything he said, but he knew the worst thing he'd told him: "I wish you had died instead of mom."

He could still see Sam's hurt look, his little brother's heart breaking, as if it were yesterday. He felt so sorry for all the horrible things he'd said to him in anger.

Sorry? "Sorry" didn't cut it this time... not for this feeling deep down in his guts ever since he'd entered Sam's room, this feeling that was tearing him apart and torturing him for every single word that had left his mouth weeks ago.

Now it was probably too late for everything. He couldn't undo it. He couldn't turn back time. But there was one thing he could do -- help his little brother get through it.

The way Dr. Roberts had explained Sam's state of mind was depressing. He said that most of the time, his little brother was out of it, lost somewhere else deep in his mind, buried under all the things that had happened. "The trauma." When Sam was ready... IF he was ever ready... he would probably leave it behind.

If... The doctor said no one could predict if he would ever get better. Since Dean was here now, he would probably give Sam a reason to stay in this world called reality... maybe... but even so, it would take a lot of time to heal. To leave the darkness behind.

The other thing that troubled Dean was that Dr. Roberts wanted to move Sam to another room in a special long-term psychiatric ward in the hospital. The only good thing about that was it meant that his little brother's injuries had healed well, and they would need his current room for someone else sooner or later.

Dean let out a deep sigh as he leaned against the cold tiles of the shower, thinking over the hours that had passed since the hospital had called him...

* * *

Then...

The older Winchester sat on the floor near the dark corner where the uneasy sobs came from. He could hear whimpering sounds, begging for something.

Dr. Roberts told him Sam had barely been eating or drinking since he arrived at the hospital, and he hadn't eaten anything before he then, either. The doctor didn't specify how he knew that, but he knew it, so Dean chose to believe him on this. Furthermore, the side effects of the sedatives probably weren't helping, but the doctor told Dean they were needed for changing the bandages and cleaning him up. Otherwise none the staff would be able to come near him except Nancy.

"Sammy, it's okay," he said for at least the thousandth time since he'd sat down. It still felt a little bit wrong to call his little brother that after all that had happened, all his not being there for him. It felt like he didn't deserve to get to call him that anymore.

The older Winchester stared into the darkness. If it wasn't for the sobbing and whimpering, he would've thought he was alone in the room.

"Bobby's getting us bacon cheeseburgers and french fries." Dean kept his voice calm and gentle. "Coke and iced tea for you, tiger, beer for me. What do you think, Sam?"

Something shifted in the darkness of the corner, and the sobbing got quieter. Dean reached his open palm in Sam's direction.

"Don't you wanna come here, Sammy?" he whispered with a soft smile, desperation in his eyes. "Just for a while?" Dean dared to move a little bit closer towards the corner. "I'd like to see you, kiddo."

The movement in the corner stopped, and then something appeared... Sam's hand, again reaching for Dean's. The big brother inched closer until he was nearly touching his sibling's shaky hand, and waited for something to happen.

Then he felt Sam's hand gently touching his, Sam's fingertips running over Dean's fingers and palm. It felt like his little brother was looking for proof that there was truly someone else in the room with him. Then Sam slowly moved entirely toward his big brother, like he longed to leave the dark corner of the room. Slowly Sam's hand made its way up Dean's arm and shoulder, then his neck and throat.

It tickled when Sam crawled his way over the older Winchester's clothes, but Dean didn't care. He just waited, staring at the figure that had decided to leave the darkness.

Sam's arm was patched up a lot, and his fingers looked bruised in the fading light. The dark stains on the bandages on his little brother's wrist brought a worried look to Dean's face.

The second thing he saw was his brother's hair, which hung down into his face, covering his eyes completely. Sam obviously didn't dare look up to catch a glimpse of the man he was discovering by touch.

Finally, his little brother's fingertips reached Dean's throat and rested there for a couple of seconds, as if waiting for any sign of movement. Then they ran down towards Dean's chest, more and more frantically.

And finally Dean got it.

Sam's hand stopped at a certain place on Dean's chest, groping along the small hard bulb under the fabric and then gripping it tight.

The amulet...

* * *

Dean sat there on the floor on a thick blanket, leaning into the corner. His arms were wrapped around the little brother who sat curled up between Dean's legs, side and head pressed against his big brother's chest, listening to his calm, steady heartbeat... thump... thump... thump...

He didn't dare move. He didn't even dare breathe deeply, not since Sam had fallen asleep in his arms some time ago... or at least stopped shivering and shaking. He was still gripping the amulet under Dean's shirt, holding the thin fabric-wrapped lump in his fist.

Dean didn't know how long they sat there. It didn't really matter. It felt right, like Dean was back on track, back where he belonged. Him and his pain-in-the-ass little brother against the world... just how it was meant to be.

The older sibling listened as he heard the knob of the door creak, glancing over where it came from to see a small figure entering and closing the door behind her.

"Sam?" It was Nancy, a tray in her hands. "...Dean?"

She hesitated for a moment. "Is everything okay?"

Dean's gazed down at his little brother. "Yeah, everything is fine." As fine as it could be, his mind added.

"Sam's asleep?" she asked quietly, kneeling down to put the tray and something that looked like two paper bags on the floor in front of them.

"Yeah, he is," Dean answered with a lowered voice. "Can we... can we get some more light?"

Dean knew why it was dark in the room. The doctor had explained it, had mentioned it at least twice before he had first entered the room, Nancy by his side. But he thought it was about time to get more daylight into the room, to accustom Sam a little bit more to day and night. And that way they could also see what they were eating...

Nancy nodded even though the older Winchester couldn't see her, and stood up, turning towards the window. She raised the blinds a little bit; now, even the dark corner didn't seem quite as dark anymore.

Dean's gaze fell on the two paper bags on the floor in front of him. "Bobby?" he asked quietly, concerned that he would wake his brother if he raised his voice any more.

Nancy nodded, crossing to the bed to grab one of the blankets and put it over the two men on the floor. Dean nodded thankfully as he wrapped the blanket around his brother and himself; Sam's skin had felt a little bit cold with just his thin shirt from the hospital and his pants.

Was there any chance in the world of getting his little brother back? With that thought, Dean drifted off to sleep. Hoping... praying...

Begging.

* * *

A tight grip on his chest and a soft tug on his necklace woke the older Winchester gently. He took a deep breath and ran his hand over his brother's hair. Sam's head was still resting on Dean's chest, but his brother seemed awake now. At least, the near-silent mumbling made him think so.

"It's okay, kiddo." Dean stroked over his brother's head gently. "I'm here. You're not alone." He wasn't sure if he was trying to soothe his little brother or himself with his words.

Sam's grip on the amulet tightened a little bit. It felt like it was the one thing his brother was clinging to.

"Are you hungry?" Dean's looked back at the paper bags -- probably cold already, but damn it, Dean was starving.

Sam gave no response, not that Dean was really waiting for one anyway.

"I guess that's a yes," he said, moving his stiff body a little. His little brother tightened his grip on his shirt and pressed himself harder into his big brother's torso.

The older Winchester hesitated for a moment.

"C'mon, little brother." Dean shoved Sam a little bit away and tried to reach the paper bags, but they were too far away. "Hey, Sammy, just let me go for a minute, okay?" Dean could hear the impatience in his own voice. "Sam?"

He reminded himself that Sam probably didn't even understand what he was talking about. A sorrowful deep sigh left Dean's lips. The more he tried to get away from him, the more anxious his brother seemed to become. Then, unexpectedly, Sam let go and moved close to the wall, leaning against it and rocking back and forth, mumbling louder. Dean still couldn't understand a single word, even though he tried.

It hurt like hell to watch Sam act that way. To see him like that, torn and broken, like a beaten-up dog left alone in a pit full of darkness and agony. He knew then there was no way he'd let his little brother get transferred to the long-term psychiatric floor, leaving him alone... no way.

He'd take him home -- they wouldn't be able to help him here. Dean wouldn't be able to help him if he stayed here.

Home... He had to talk to the doctor and Bobby about it. Bobby's house was probably the only building in their lives that had come close to something that could be called home. The Impala wasn't the kind of home where he could take care of Sam until he was his old self again. A motel-room wouldn't do, either. They needed a house, a roof over their heads, for more than a couple of days and maybe for even longer... A lifetime...

Dean grabbed the paper bags and opened them. The smell of cold burgers and fries filled the air. For a second, he thought about calling for a nurse who might be able to heat their food up. But Dean didn't want to move any further away from Sam, not even just that far, not right now. If he moved away now, Sam might not let him come near again for some time.

Yes, Dean was afraid of that, afraid of scaring his little brother if he left him again. He knew at some point he would have to leave him from time to time, at least for a couple of minutes... but not now.

Dean reached into the bag, grabbed one of the burgers and unwrapped it. "There you go, kiddo." He held it out towards Sam and waited.

His brother didn't even look up.

"Sammy?" he asked gently. "I know it's not what you usually eat..." Not sure you'd care about that right now, though...

Dean placed the burger near Sam's feet and got his own. A cold burger was far away from heaven, but he honestly didn't care. He was starving already.

It took some time before Sam raised his eyes over his knees, and even more time before he reached out for the meal. He carefully ran his fingers over the burger like he might burn himself on it. Finally, he took it and ripped it apart slowly, eating one small piece after another. Dean smiled lightly at that and placed one of the bags of fries in front of Sam, along with his iced tea.

When Dean was done eating, he sat still and watched his little brother's shaky hands strip the food into small pieces. When he reached for the fries, fearful hazel eyes glanced over at his big brother, silently asking if he was allowed to take them.

At least he'd eaten... and was drinking...

Dean got the beer bottle and twisted it open. At the sharp noise of the cap popping off, Sam dropped his fries and curled up as small as he could.

Dean flinched at his brother's sudden movement. "It's okay, it was just me." He sat his hand on Sam's knee and watched him. "Just me, Sammy. Go on eating, kiddo."

As if Sam understood, he looked up at his big brother and seemed to relax a little bit -- not eating anymore, just watching Dean as he finished off the beer.

Once it was gone, the older sibling raised himself from the floor, stretching his whole body with a deep moan. He'd definitely spent too much time on the ground.

"I think we need some more light in here," Dean said to himself and went to the window, lifting the blinds a little bit and watching for his brother's reaction. He had no clue how late it was, or even what day it was. Everything seemed relative and blurry at the moment, like it was all just a bad dream or something...

* * *

"Boys?" Nancy stood by the bed, watching the sleeping brothers on the floor. Sam was curled up on his side next to his big brother.

She tried again, this time a little bit louder. "Boys?" She placed the fresh towels, bandages, and clothes for the younger Winchester on the bed, ready to act.

Dean groaned huskily and his lids fluttered open. It took him a moment to realize he wasn't lying in a bed. It took him a couple second more to realize he was on the floor next to his brother, and even longer to remember that he was in a hospital room. It hadn't been a dream...

"Yeah?" he moaned.

"I'm sorry, but I need to get your brother cleaned up and change his bandages," Nancy said, a sad smile on her face. "Dylan will be here in a few minutes to help me with it. In the meantime, why don't you pick up some coffee or visit the cafeteria downstairs?" She looked hopefully at the older Winchester.

Dean hesitated for a moment, his gaze falling on his brother, obviously still asleep. He didn't want to leave him alone. Not again. Not like this.

"Will it hurt him?" He was pretty concerned. Dean couldn't imagine that they'd be able to change his brother's bandages without putting him through hell in some way.

Nancy pressed her lips together and stared at the older Winchester. "We'll need to sedate him. I don't think you should watch." She was right, to be honest -- Dean would give them at least as much hell as they were going to give Sam.

"...Let me patch him up by myself." Dean knew it wouldn't be easy, but he had to at least try. "If there's anything that concerns me, I can let you know." It wouldn't be easy, for sure.

Nancy stood there, eyebrows raised. "I'm sorry, but I can't. At least one of us has to be with you, just in case." Dean just looked at her, stabbing her in his mind. "He could hurt himself," she added. Then, softly, "He could hurt you."

Dean smiled in disbelief.

"I just want to get through it as fast as possible. If he's asleep and we can sedate him before he wakes up, it will be much easier for him and for us." Nancy seemed pretty convinced about her words.

"No." Dean's eyes went dark as he started to get up from the floor. "I'll clean him up and change his bandages -- but when, and only when, he's awake. You can watch if you want, but you will not lay a hand on him or give him a sedative." His eyes flickered dangerously. "ARE. WE. CLEAR?"

Nancy stared at him for a moment. "As you wish... but don't say I didn't warn you."

* * *

Now.

And so here he was, Dean Winchester, with no clue how to get his broken brother into the shower. Or how to convince Sam to even get into the bathroom with him.

He thought about it for a while, playing through scenarios in his head. None of them went the way he wanted them to. Finally, the older Winchester simply knelt beside his still-sleeping brother and brushed his hand gently over his shoulder.

"Sammy?" he asked hesitatingly. "Come on, wake up little brother. We've got work to do."


	4. Darkness

Chapter 4 ~ Darkness

The darkness was a welcome sensation after all the pain and loss he felt deep inside. All the bad feelings were bearable when his mind was covered in the dark mist of sleep and unconsciousness. He felt safe -- safer than he ever thought he could feel in a lifetime. Yes, it was interrupted by horrible nightmares at points, but he nonetheless appreciated the way the darkness flooded through his body. It felt more comfortable than the world out there, safer than anything that could possibly happen when he was awake and aware.

Words and phrases crossed his mind. Sensations of pain and coldness, in sharp contrast to a specific warmth he'd felt lately... something that covered him, held him. It felt a little bit like a dream, like those days with his brother when he was little -- when tiny Sammy, afraid of the dark, would cuddle up with his big brother, seeking shelter under his sheets.

Because when there wasn't darkness...

Pain, with every move he made. Pain, reminding him of black-eyed men beating the hell out of him. Pain, pushing him further back into the darkest corner of his mind. Slicing, tearing, threatening, punching. His own screams, his own choking and begging, echoing in his ears.

Yes, the darkness after every session with these creatures was more than welcome. It was a kind of safe place for his mind and broken body.

...This is for Dean, he reminded himself with every hit he took, giving it all for his big brother. He would hold on to this life for as long as possible, fight as long as he was able, try not to fall apart. Stall for time... for as long as he could...

Even if he'd known where Dean was, he would never have told them. He'd decided to take the pain, the loss and all of the hurt to buy Dean more time, more days or weeks, until they decided to end him. Because Sam knew his brother wouldn't come. He knew Dean wouldn't show up the way these creatures hoped.

Sam could've gotten away. They promised they would let him go, would have freed him, put an end to his misery. But on the other hand, Sam knew how demons rolled. "Ending" it meant that they would've killed him, and afterwards they would have gone after Michael's vessel to destroy it.

So Sam had decided to stay in the darkness, where no one could ever hurt him again. After all, the demons weren't the worst ones to give him hell. Dean's words still burned in his soul, tearing at his heart like rabid hellhounds longing to drag him downstairs straight into the fiery pits.

Stay away from each other for good.

Sam had known everything he'd done was wrong. All his good intentions just made it worse. "Sorry" didn't cut it, not even close. He'd let his brother down. Let Bobby down. And deep down, he knew he'd let the world down, left it behind to burn.

THIS was what he deserved. He knew he deserved it, more than anyone else.

Still...

At some point things had changed. He couldn't tell what it was or when it started -- he'd lost all track of time -- but he felt different. He felt a tender warmth, a feeling that someone or something was holding him tight, fondling his hair...

...It felt just different.

At one point, he imagined that his brother was there with him, reaching for him and calling him Sammy. And Sam gave in to the illusion. He knew it wasn't real, it couldn't be. But on the other hand, what did he had to lose? He longed for nothing more than being back on the road with his big brother. So what, between Heaven and Hell, would it cost him to believe in it for a while -- his life? That was already a given.

So he gave in, finding some comfort in the thought that his brother was with him, forgiving him... He just had to follow the smell of whiskey and the Impala.

It occurred to Sam that he might already be dead. But then he felt his breath, his heartbeat, and saw shades moving in the darkness when he opened his eyes. For some time, he thought he'd heard someone's else heartbeat, too, a warm presence by his side making him feel safe... but he knew that wasn't possible. He was alone... on his own.

They wouldn't let him die. Not that easily. They'd sew up his mouth, but then cut it open; they wouldn't let him starve. But Sam knew it would be worse if they did end his torture, because that would mean they'd found him... found Dean.

All he felt now were a few uneasy sensations that he couldn't clarify, but which didn't really cause the amount of pain he was used to. He wanted the pain to end, but he didn't dare beg them for it. He just couldn't. They would go after the Archangel's vessel then. They would go after Dean.

This time Sam had to do the right thing.

* * *

Dean did his best to get Sam's attention, but no matter what he said or tried, nothing worked. The older Winchester had just one option left -- carrying his little brother into the bathroom. He would make it work. He had to. He wouldn't give up because of a few yards. He had to try.

"Damn it, Sam." Of course, Sam had to be a giant -- and not a light giant. Dean cursed until he managed to get his brother's dead weight in his arms.

Dean grunted under his brother's weight, his back starting to hurt after the first two steps. The older sibling's muscles were tense and aching before he was even halfway to the bathroom. "Need some help," Dean gasped out.

Nancy turned the bathroom light on and held the door open as Dean entered the shower. Going to the corner, he slid his brother down onto his feet, from there letting him sink down into a fetal position. Dean stretched his body and held his back for a few seconds, taking deep breaths and giving Nancy an exhausted glance.

"Still think you have everything under control?" Nancy asked, an I-told-you-so smirk on her lips.

Dean nodded, still trying to catch his breath. "I got him," he managed to say.

"If you're sure, I'll wait outside. If you need anything, just call and I'll be there," she said, closing the bathroom door.

This was the first time the older Winchester had been able to see his little brother clearly. The bright light in the bathroom remorselessly showed him every bandage and contusion on Sam's body.

He knelt down on the cold tiles, running his fingertips gently over Sam's bruised fingers and the dressings on his wrists. His little brother curled up in response, hiding his face behind his knees and trying to make himself as small as possible.

"First things first, Sammy," Dean said, beginning to free him from his clothes without hurting him even more. His brother wasn't moving at all.

Dean wondered if he should just cut the thin fabric off.

* * *

Sam felt strong arms slipping gently under his knees and around his shoulders, pulling him up. He didn't dare move. Hell, he didn't even knew what was going on. He forced himself to open his eyes, but all he saw were shades of gray and light... a light he was moving into.

Maybe it was all was over. Was this the end? Could it really be? Did dying feel like this?

Or... or was it his brother, taking him home? Maybe Dean had found him, had been looking for him. Had forgiven him.

No. It couldn't be. They'd promised each other not to go looking. But again he thought he heard his name spoken -- "Sammy" -- by a most familiar voice.

Sam just let it happen. Let himself slip down onto a cold surface, felt warm hands gently brushing along his fingers and arm, and something that felt like someone trying to pull his shirt off. Was he even wearing a shirt?

At first he didn't want to take it off. He didn't want anyone to undress him. He didn't want anyone even to touch him. But this familiar voice... it sounded so comforting and gentle. Almost like Dean, like in the past when Dean would take care of him when he was sick, helping him into the bathtub. So Sam finally decided to stop fighting it, slipping out of the thin fabric wrapped around his body.

* * *

"That's good, Sam," Dean smiled happily. "You're doing great."

Sam had lost weight. His brother looked a lot thinner than the last time he'd seen him, ribs leaping out under his skin. His gaze fell on older and newer bruises and wounds -- mostly cuts and burns.

Dean turned away for a second, swallowing down his tears. Winchesters don't cry. It took him a second to focus on his task again.

He knew Sam loved taking hot steamy showers (wasting all the hot water, too, by the way), so he set the temperature the way old Sam would have liked it, and tested it first on his toes. When his little brother didn't show any sign of discomfort, he let it run over his brother's whole body, then moved up to his hair.

Against all expectations, Sam started to lift his head, eyes closed, towards the shower-head. Dean held still, letting the water stream over Sam's face for a long time. He could feeling his brother's body start to completely relax for the first time in a long time.

"I'm sorry, kiddo, but we should wash your hair, too." He apologized for turning the water off.

Sam opened his eyes, water dripping from his lashes. Hazel-green eyes stared up at Dean, but didn't seem to see his big brother.

After another 15 minutes, they were done. Dean wrapped a couple of towels around his sibling, looking at least as exhausted as Sam.

The younger Winchester fell asleep again before Dean had even finished drying him.


	5. Screams in the Dark

Chapter 5 ~ Screams in the Dark

The older Winchester let out a deep sigh as he entered the motel room. His gaze fell on Bobby, sitting by the small table in front of Dean's notebook and studying one of the police folders beside him.

Bobby looked gratefully at Dean and nodded a tired welcome. He must have spent the entire time Dean was at the hospital researching and thinking... pondering where this all would lead.

"You know, you boys are always welcome in my house," the retired hunter stated thoughtfully. "No matter what."

Dean let out another deep sigh and threw his jacket over one of the chairs near the bed. "I know, Bobby," he moaned. "And I'm very thankful for all you did for us so far. I really am. Let's have this talk later, okay?" He knew his friend just wanted to prove he wasn't useless after everything. "Right now, I just need a shower so I can get back to the hospital before Sam wakes up."

Bobby cleared his throat. He wanted information on how Sam was doing. This was the first time he'd seen Dean for more than five minutes at a time since he had arrived. He wanted answers.

The retired hunter gazed at his adopted all-but-son, trying to get a feel for Dean's state of mind. "You're not saying a lot about what's going on there. What did Sam say? Are there any leads? Did he tell you anything about the men?"

All Dean had told him on the phone was that Sam had been tortured, his body was a mess, and he didn't know for sure how his little brother was managing or how he should or could manage to help him. But that was yesterday. Today... today Dean knew he would persevere no matter what. He would take care of his little brother as well as he possibly could.

Dean lowered himself down onto the bed and looked at the older man for quite a while. Then he rubbed his reddened eyes with both hands.

"He's not talking, Bobby." Dean seemed disappointed, desperate. "Sam hasn't said a word yet. He won't even look at me." He buried his face in his palms. "I don't even know if he knows I'm there or who I am." Another, longer, pause, then he continued. "Sam is... far away at the moment, Bobby. I'm not sure if we'll be able to fix it. Not this time."

Bobby didn't say anything. He just sat there and frowned, like he was waiting to hear more.

Dean wasn't one to talk about feelings and all this stuff. He'd grown up as the tough big brother that he was, ignoring his feelings and swallowing them down until he couldn't take it anymore. And he'd reached that point. Now it didn't matter who got in his way. He'd beat the shit out of anyone who crossed him right now, verbally or physically.

"Fuck." He sounded desperate. His eyes were watering. Dean sobbed, "He's broken."

"You can't break a Winchester that easy, Dean." Bobby shut the file in front of him, obviously trying to pick his words carefully. "You know that."

"You haven't seen him," Dean countered quietly.

"But I will. Tomorrow, when we take him home, I will. We'll take care of this, patch him up and give him the time he needs -- time to adjust and heal." Bobby sounded pretty certain about it, as if he knew they could glue Sam together again. "You'll see. He just needs some time."

The older Winchester nodded. He was exhausted, troubled, tired. His whole body ached. And his heart tore more with every beat...

Then he looked up. "I talked to his doctor today. He didn't sound very enthusiastic about us taking Sam home. I think he wants to keep him there longer." Dean bit his lower lip. "He said Sam might suffer a massive breakdown if we change his surroundings this drastically. Said we'd have to drug him for the trip." The older sibling swallowed down his sobs.

"Bobby, you haven't seen him. He's a mess. Everywhere he's sitting... he just curls up. He won't even walk. He doesn't seem to understand what I'm saying." Dean's eyes filled with tears again and he swallowed them down hard. One lone tear rolled down his cheek. "I left him behind and thought it would all be okay. Guess cutting me out of his life didn't work so well."

He brushed the tear away. "I don't know if I can do this, Bobby. Not after all we said to each other. Even if he doesn't remember -- I do."

"You don't think he remembers the fight?" Bobby turned around in his wheelchair to get a better look at Dean and frowned.

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "No." He wasn't sure, but he was convinced that if Sam did remember, he wouldn't come near his brother the way he did. Not if he'd recognized him. So he was glad, guiltily glad, that maybe Sam didn't remember. He'd be happy if Sam totally forgot the whole past year entirely.

"Then leave it that way." Bobby hesitated. "Maybe, when he's up on his feet again..."

"Then what?" Dean asked, sniffling. "I said horrible things, Bobby. Things no one should say to his brother. I said I wished he was dead. I said I wished I hadn't saved his ass a million times. I told him I couldn't be around him anymore and I left -- I left him back there, Bobby. I knew I hurt him, I gave him hell. I was so mad at him. I was mad at myself. And he just sat there and said he was sorry for everything. Everything. And I... I told him that he should put his 'sorry' where the sun don't shine, that it was all a little too late."

Silence fell depressingly between them.

"I think you should just live life one day at a time. When this topic comes up, you'll both have to handle it. But right now something else is important, boy," Bobby reminded him with a slight smile. "Wanna know what I found out so far?"

Dean nodded. Changing the topic... yeah, that was probably the best thing at this point.

"Well, boy, the fingerprints these guys left behind -- there were actually five different prints. Two of them matched folks who went missing in the late '50s, and one of them vanished about two months ago."

"Demonic possession," the younger hunter guessed, his eyes narrowing to small slits. "You think demons did this to him?"

"Yeah, I think they did." Bobby nodded again. "The question is why? What demons would dare hurt and torture Lucifer's vessel? Who would be that stupid?" The older man licked his lips. "And why the hell would they just leave Sam back there? Demons aren't that dumb. I don't think they made a mistake. I think they had some kind of plan behind this."

"Yeah, well, that question is on Sam to answer." Dean sighed again.

"First things first." He stood up from the bed and strolled towards the bathroom. "Do me a favor and order something to eat in the meanwhile? We need to get more flesh on Sam, and I don't think he likes the hospital food at all." And with that, he disappeared behind the bathroom door.

* * *

Dean returned to the hospital two hours later, a big paper bag in one arm and a cozy, fluffy blanket in the other. He'd actually gone shopping, looking for something Sam might like, when he saw this blanket in autumn colors, a plaid design on one side and fluffy fur on the other.

Old Sam would probably have hit him for buying such a "girly" blanket. But hopefully this new Sam, upstairs in room 57, would love the thing. Those hospital blankets felt too scruffy and itchy, and Sam should at least be as comfortable as possible. Even if he wasn't there mentally, his body was still there.

When Dean reached the fourth floor, he heard a loud, panicked scream and a familiar voice begging. "Sammy?!" he took off like a shot.

By the time he reached Sam's room, Dean was breathing hard. Yes, the screams were definitely coming out of Room 57 -- heartbreaking cries, interspersed with sobs and pleading. The older Winchester's face went pale. He let all the stuff in his arms fall to the ground as he burst into the room.

Sam wasn't where he'd left him. Dean had placed his sleeping brother on the bed, with three blankets covering his shivering body. He'd been so damn sure Sam would sleep for at least a couple of hours.

Dr. Roberts was kneeling on the floor behind the bed, near the corner where Sam used to sit. Behind him was the nurse called Dylan, who turned towards the door when Dean entered.

What's going on?" Dean shot out, panting.

"Please, don't!" Sam's voice sounded desperate, full of panic and fear, as Roberts stroked his knee gently. "Please... please..." his sobbing voice echoed again, begging in a lower register.

"He just woke up a couple of minutes ago and was like this," Dylan explained, his eyes sorrowful. "I didn't knew what to do, so I called Dr. Roberts."

He should have called Dean.

Dean didn't hesitate. While the male nurse was still explaining, he rushed past him, pushed the doctor aside and knelt in front of his little brother.

* * *

Sam could heard the chain grinding across the naked basement floor. Fear tightened in his chest. He knew what came next -- new bruises, new pain, and no way to cry out. He was back at the very beginning, shortly after they'd stitched his mouth shut -- the first time had been the worst. Everything had felt new, extremely raw and cold. The fear had been the strongest at the beginning. That was back when he'd still been fighting back, trying to do what Dean would do if he was there. Still holding on to a little bit of hope that someone would come and rescue him, or at least release him...

It took him too long to realize his mouth was no longer sewn up, that the sounds he was hearing weren't chains. That the sounds were coming from him. He heard himself screaming and begging for help, desperate for comfort and something to hold on to. He heard himself sobbing and crying over his nightmare.

Sam tried to calm himself down. It was just a dream. He needed to calm down fast before they heard him. He knew what would happen if he kept screaming.

He had to hold on, stall for time. What the hell was he thinking, losing control like that? The faster they were done with him, the faster they'd start tracking down his big brother somehow. He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't let him down again. Not this time. He curled up tighter, pressing his body harder against the surface behind him, hoping they hadn't heard him. Oh god, he would give anything to die -- everything.

Just not Dean.

Sammy... he heard that familiar voice again, felt a gentle touch running over his hair, a soothing mumbling calming him down. Someone embraced him warmly.

Could it possibly be true? Was the familiar body next to him actually there? A gentle grip on his shoulders forced him to lean against something soft and warm, leading his head downwards until he heard that soothing sound again... thump... thump... thump...

* * *

The older Winchester felt his heart bouncing against his ribcage as he gently maneuvered his little brother to lean against his chest, holding him tight and rocking a little bit. He wasn't sure the rocking was necessary -- and, well, maybe it was more for his benefit than for Sam.

"It's okay, Sammy," he whispered quietly. "Everything's okay. You're safe. Safer than you ever could be, kiddo."

Dean knew he had to get his little brother home. It was the only option.

He didn't want to imagine what he'd been through in the past weeks. And that made him wonder whether it all was worth this... if this was worth it. As he felt his little brother shaking and sobbing in fear and panic, he wondered -- was being alive worth living like this?

* * *

Bobby changed his plans. He pleaded with Rufus until he agreed to come over early, before they got back, to prepare the panic room and build a fire in the living room. It got pretty cold there, and Bobby didn't want to bring Sam into a cold, unprepared house.

He had a damn bad feeling deep down in his gut as they took off from the hospital, a sedated Sam Winchester spread out on the Impala's backseat. Bobby was following Dean in his own vehicle -- he might be in a wheelchair, but with Rufus's help he'd managed to rebuild one of the old trucks so he could at least drive a car on his own.

The further away they got from the hospital, the worse Bobby's gut felt. Unease wrenched its way up and formed a knot in his throat. Something was badly wrong. After all those weeks, the demons had just taken off, leaving their bait behind back at the basement? It was like they wanted Sam to be found. Or maybe...

Maybe they needed him to be found.


	6. Falling

Chapter 6 ~ Falling

Dean and Rufus placed the sedated younger Winchester, still clutching his new blanket (yeah, Dean was proud of himself for that find), on the couch in Bobby's living room. Sam seemed relaxed, his body limp like he was just fast asleep, but Dean knew it was just the sedatives and that he wouldn't be like this much longer. At least, the doctor had said so. They'd passed the six-hour mark about an hour ago, which was when the drugs were supposed to start wearing off.

Dean was beginning to get worried. Maybe they'd given him the wrong dose...? He checked his little brother's vitals again. Everything seemed fine, like he was asleep. But he was worried regardless.

Worried and tired. The day had been exhausting. It had torn on his nerves, always keeping one eye on his younger sibling in the rear-view mirror in case he was going to wake up or go all wild-man again. He hadn't dared take a break -- they'd driven straight through for hours until they reached Bobby's house.

When they reached Singer's Salvage, he was more than relieved. Rufus was already waiting for them to help the older Winchester get his brother inside.

* * *

Dean couldn't sleep. It was already past midnight, there was a the sixth cup of coffee in his veins, and he was still checking his brother's vitals every hour. He grabbed one of the whiskey bottles and poured himself a glass. Bobby was trying to find out more about the guys who'd captured Sam weeks ago, and Rufus was getting the panic room ready -- "just in case," as Bobby had said earlier, worriedly.

The older Winchester sat in front of the small kitchen table, checking the web for any signs of the apocalypse. There were plenty enough if you knew what to look for. A deep sigh left his lips when he read one of the articles, about how some guy murdered 127 nuns in a convent. How would they even be able to stop this? How was he supposed to stop this all on his own if his brother didn't recover fully?

Dean had taken another gulp from his glass when he spotted movement in the corner of his eye. He turned around, expecting to see Rufus in the doorway. His eyes widened when he realized it wasn't Rufus. Nor was it Bobby...

"Sam?" the older Winchester couldn't believe what he saw -- his walking and talking sasquatch, leaning against the doorway. Sam's eyes were wide, dark shadows around them. His skin was pale and his lips colorless... like a walking corpse.

Dean's chair scraped backwards across the wooden floor as he stood up, emotions running across his face. His brother was walking, he'd stood up by himself, he was awake. Dean didn't question what had happened, he didn't care, not now anyway...

But he had to admit that a sudden weird feeling climbed up his throat. Sam's fast recovery was pretty strange.

Then he swallowed the feeling down; he knew the house was monster-proof. All his concerns were washed away by his relief.

"Dean?" Sam said with a there-you-are smile, making his way over to his brother, who rushed towards his younger sibling with big strides. They ended up hugging in the middle of the room. Dean felt released, happy, like a giant rock had fallen off his heart... except for just one thing...

It didn't feel like his brother.

Everything happened within seconds. Suddenly, Sam's hand moved, and he saw something glinting out of the corner of his right eye. Dean grabbed his brother's hair, curled it up in his fist and banged his head into Sam's forehead. Whatever had been glinting was sliced through the thin fabric of Dean's shirt, leaving a deep cut and a burning sensation across his back.

"What the hell, Sam?!" Dean shouted, punching Sam in the face more by reflex than anything else.

"You should have checked on your brother's tattoo, Dean Winchester." The thing that looked like his brother recovered quickly, grinning victoriously as he licked his bleeding lip.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean hissed, his eyes darkening. There wasn't even one time in their lives when things could work out calmly and well, could they?

"Exorcizamus te... omnis immundus spiritus-"

"Don't overexert yourself," his possessed brother said, unimpressed, as he raised his shirt. There was a burned mark on his left flank... and damn it, Dean knew the sign. The demon had locked itself inside his brother. The realization flickered over Dean's face and he swallowed hard, looking at Ruby's knife in his brother's hand.

"What's all this for?" Dean asked, watching every move his brother made. "You could've killed my brother and me easily in the hospital before."

"But it wouldn't have been as much fun as it is now. Before I end a job, I like to play a little bit with my toys." Yeah, it was Sam's body, Sam's voice, Sam's everything... but it wasn't Sam.

"So what, you're gonna kill me?" Dean's eyes moved quickly, his mind spinning even faster. His brother was possessed, the demon locked inside his body. Somehow, he had to get Sam under control and destroy the mark on his side.

"Yes, I'm going to kill you, destroying the angels' only hope."

Dean put on his I-don't-care smirk while he tried to figure out how he could possibly get the bastard out of his brother without killing them both.

"I promise I'll be quick." The demon moved toward him, twisting the knife in his fist as he lunged forward to stab Dean in the chest.

Right then, a loud bang echoed through the kitchen and Sam's back was peppered with rock salt. "DON'T YOU DARE!" Bobby commanded, cool and composed.

The demon groaned and flinched, nearly dropping the knife as he turned around to face the shooter with a big smirk in his deadened eyes. Then he saw not just the sawed-off shotgun in Bobby's left hand, but the Colt in his right hand.

"I'll let you choose: Either you back off or I kill you." Bobby's voice remained calm and steady, his poker face unmoving.

"You won't kill this boy," The demon tilted his head to one side. "And you wouldn't dare hurt his broken body more."

Bobby raised his right eyebrow. "Think so? Way I see it, I have two choices. Either I lose Dean and Sam, or I just lose Sam. Sam, whose body and soul you broke, anyway. Who knows if he'd ever live a normal life again? I could put him out of his misery without any regret, and I won't risk losing both hunters on the field." He put on a winning smile, his eyes still composed and not showing any kind of emotion. "So, what do you think I'll pick?"

Dean watched it happen, unable to say anything. He trusted Bobby. He knew the older man was lying. Bobby would never hurt Sam or risk his life -- at least, not in a normal situation.

"What's it gonna be?" the older hunter said, staring at the monster, his finger on the trigger.

The demon looked down at himself, then at the knife. He seemed to be calculating his chances of whether and how he could possibly get out of this situation alive.

Suddenly, with a fast move of his left hand, the demon threw Bobby and his wheelchair backwards and slammed the door shut. In nearly the same motion he took off to finish his first goal -- killing the archangel's vessel for good.

The speed caught Dean by surprise. Before he could react, the demon was in front of him, lunging out to bury the knife in Dean's gut. But before the bastard could hit him, Dean shoved himself aside, grabbed Sam's other hand and twisted it behind his brother's back.

Broken bones could heal. No one would die tonight. Dean would take care of it.

First, he had to get a hold of the demon. But the thing was strong; it flung Dean across the kitchen, slamming him hard into a wall. The older sibling fell down with a gasp, air leaving his lungs for a couple of seconds before he could take a deep breath.

"You know, your brother begged us to release him. But he didn't give in. The poor bastard kept refusing to tell us where we could find his brother..." the demon said "...no matter what we did to him." He stood in front of Dean, swinging his foot back and burying it viciously in his prey's stomach. "You have no idea how much fun we had breaking him."

Dean took another kick, this time to the ribs, and felt a stinging pain in his chest. The elder Winchester could feel a sharp cutting pain when he inhaled much-needed air. At least one rib was broken.

Sam squatted down next to his panting brother, twirling the knife between his fingers. "Let's end this while your brother is watching, Dean, so he'll know that in the end... we won."

The thing took another swing, trying to thrust the knife into Dean's chest, but the older Winchester grabbed Sam's hand in time, twisting it around and knocking the knife to the floor. A relentless battle ensued, both of them taking bad hits and punches. At one point Dean actually had Ruby's knife in his hand while they were battling for it, only to lose it again.

Both men got to their feet a few yards away from each other. The bastard was still in Sam's body, and was holding the knife again. Both of them were badly bruised. Dean had at least one broken rib and a badly aching knee, not to mention his aching head. The damn demon, on the other hand, was recovering quickly -- his brother would be the one feeling the injuries later. Dean had pulled his punches, trying to avoid hitting Sam's older injuries (even though that wasn't likely) or breaking any of his little brother's bones. But he also knew he couldn't win if he kept fighting that way. As it was, he was losing. If he didn't find a fast solution to the problem...

The same moment the demon lunged towards Dean, the door slammed back open to reveal Bobby in his wheelchair. Behind him stood Rufus, holding the sawed-off.

Then everything happened at once: The demon flung his knife toward Dean's chest. A shot rang out.

* * *

There he was.

Sam felt himself lying on the cold wooden floor. His eyes opened wide.

He knew he was alive, heard his name said a couple of times -- "Sammy," over and over again. The voice seemed to get weaker... or maybe that was himself? He could only see shades -- gray and something bright, something black, like smoke, flying over him, gone within seconds.

He tried to focus, extending his hand to feel for the familiar voice. He could smelled whiskey and old books, and Dean's aftershave. There were voices, but they sounded like they were far away. Then a moment of clarity overcame him. He couldn't see a damn thing, but he could feel. He could feel Dean's eyes on him. Dean was there, somewhere nearby. He knew it.

"Dea'?" Sam tried to call for his brother. It came out weakly, more of an exhale than a word.

Sam closed his eyes. Maybe the darkness would show him the way.

Pure pain began to rush through his body in waves. Weeks ago, Sam had wondered how it would feel to die. Now, he knew. He felt his life fading away, slowly but surely. It felt like he could recognize his last minutes before he would follow his reaper wherever he was supposed to go. Sam was ready, ready to leave this world behind with all the pain and loss.

But he was also sorry that he couldn't see his brother one last time.

* * *

There he was.

Dean felt himself lying on the cold wooden floor. His eyes opened wide.

He knew he was alive. It'd just been a few seconds since he'd hit the cool surface, only to see black smoke above him, twisting like a rabid snake through the air, trying to escape. He could hear unsettled voices around him.

Blood oozed out of a wound on his shoulder. Ruby's knife was still stuck in him, but it didn't seem that deep, at least from what he could see. His vision was beginning to fade.

He turned his head -- Sam wasn't far away. He was lying facing him, empty hazel eyes looking straight into his. "Sam... Sammy," Dean managed to say softly.

"Dea'?" It was more like exhaling than talking.

He saw Sam's hand reach in his direction... and then his little brother closed his eyes.

Dean tried to move, but his muscles shot terrible pain through his entire body. "Sammy, c'mon."

Dean's big green eyes fixed on his little brother and the growing pool of blood at his side. So this was it? This was how it was going to end? At least they were going together... the way it should be. No angels. No demons. No more monsters. No more hunting. Just peace. If that was the way it was going to be, he'd follow Sam's lead when the reaper came to get them.

Dean's lids fell shut. "Good night, Sammy..."


	7. Awakening

Chapter 7 ~ Awakening

Thump... thump... thump...

There he was, back on the road of life.

It was a long wait, but finally the angel had managed to get his feathery ass down to earth for a couple of minutes while two of his best friends were dying. Literally, dying...

Castiel knelt beside Sam's bed. "He will awaken soon." The angel's voice was exhausted, his hands shaking from the task. "I'm sorry that I couldn't do more for him. I honestly wish I was able to fix this -- fix both of them completely..." Castiel sighed and looked up at the retired hunter.

"You did more than I could have hoped for," Bobby said with a slight smile, laying a hand on Cas' shoulder. He was relieved that both of his boys would live, and accepted what was and was not within the angel's capability. Cas had tried to heal them both, but since he was disconnected to heaven, his 'angel juice' barely allowed him to zap from one place to another, let alone heal someone. He had tried -- it'd nearly cost him his consciousness. Now, he knelt on the floor; nearly downed...

"Balls, Cas!" Bobby hissed as the angel vanished without warning to the fluttering sound of wings.

The older hunter sat in his wheelchair beside the bed where they'd laid Sam's limp form down. He'd been sure he was going to lose at least one of his boys, and he knew Dean would never have forgiven him if he'd sacrificed his brother's life for Dean's. Dean would've beaten him for his decision, or worse, barred him from his life. But Bobby had been desperate -- all the blood covering Dean, his boy slowly fading away within seconds. Rufus had shouted at Bobby, yelling that the younger Winchester was going to die, there was so much blood, he didn't know what to do. No ambulance would reach them in time.

Bobby knew he'd had no other choice. Dean's small movement when their eyes met had shown him where the demon had burned the locking symbol into Sam's flesh. He knew he hadn't missed it -- unlock, aim, shoot. But he also knew he'd be wounding the younger Winchester badly, maybe even killing him, since he didn't know what kind of injuries the demon might have hidden.

And he'd felt terrible about the decision, a decision he'd had just a split-second to make. Then his hunter's instinct had kicked in and pulled the trigger for him.

When the older hunter realized he was about to lose them both, that he'd just dammed one of his adopted sons to die to save the other, only to fail at saving either... when he'd realized they were bleeding out, running out of time... a neon sign had finally lit above his head, and he'd called for the only one who could possibly save them now.

Castiel.

* * *

Two days went by after the angel disappeared. Both Winchesters remained unconscious in their beds in one of Bobby's rooms upstairs.

Castiel obviously had sensed their state immediately when he arrived. The angel had healed Dean, then moved on to his little brother. He didn't say why he'd gone for the older Winchester first, but after a whole two days of overthinking one of the worst times of his life, Bobby figured the angel must have known he couldn't heal both of them completely. If he'd started with Sam, he would've expended all of his angel-juice and Dean would've died.

Castiel had just said that Sam's body was damaged worse, that the demon had been hiding a bunch of injuries and that he hadn't been able to heal them all.

It was what it was, Bobby thought. No one could change it at this point.

* * *

Thump... thump... thump...

Damn it, he was alive. And he wasn't supposed to be, he knew it, deep down... he was supposed to be dead. Supposed to be with his little brother. At peace. No more hunting, no more screwed-up lives, just a little peace in heaven on their own.

His eyes fluttered open, lids rolling up slowly. Immediately, he wasn't sure if he should've opened his eyes. He wasn't sure he wanted to see this world ever again.

A grumpy old voice dug its way through the darkness of his semi-consciousness. "It's about time, kiddo."

The young hunter moaned and groaned. When he stretched his muscles, it hurt. In fact, his whole body felt sore. His vision was pretty blurry, and for a couple of minutes, the world still seemed far away.

"Dean?" It was Bobby, sitting in his wheelchair, a big grin on his face. "There we go, boy. What the hell took you so long?"

At least one of the Winchesters was halfway up and about.

Dean blinked his eyes and rubbed his palms over his face. It almost felt like he was waking up from a really deep night's sleep. "Bobby?" he mumbled.

The next moment, the whole fatal chain of events crashed back into his memory. "Oh, god." Dean's eyes opened wide, staring past the older hunter to the bed behind him. "Sammy!?"

He swallowed hard, then reached up to his own shoulder, expecting a bandage in the place where Ruby's knife had dug deep into his flesh. He wasn't expecting what he found: No bandage, no patch, nothing -- just a sensitive spot that felt like a scar. "What--?"

Bobby sighed deeply. "Castiel."

"Cas was here?" Dean said hoarsely. "I thought he ..."

Dean swallowed again, cut off by Bobby's words: "His angel-juice was barely enough... he had enough to heal you mostly. But .."

The older Winchester paled and closed his eyes for a second. Then he asked quietly, "What about Sam? Was he... awake?"

Bobby looked down on his shoes, before he fixed Dean with his look. "No, he wasn't... he was on the verge -- Cas wasn't able to fix him, not completely, but he said he'll survive."

The retired hunter's voice lowered. "Any other way, there wouldn't have been enough for both of you. If he'd healed Sam first, there wouldn't have been enough juice left for you. So he chose the middle road, tried to save you both. And I am more than happy about the fact that you'll both live."

Dean nodded, his gaze falling back on his still-unconscious brother. "Did Cas say anything about Sam? You know... if there's anything left?"

Bobby closed his eyes for a moment, sensing Dean's tension. "Yes... more or less. We don't know how he's doing. He hasn't woken up yet... and we don't know in what condition he'll be."

Dean felt his eyes watering. "Oh god..." his words just a whisper.

"It's okay, Dean," Bobby tried to comfort him. "We've had him hooked up to IVs for the last two days to be safe. You'll see, he's going to be okay."

"What about the demon?" Dean turned his head and watched the ceiling, trying to focus. "Is it gone?" His voice was still hoarse as hell.

"It's not dead, if you mean that," Bobby added a sigh. "But it's gone."

Dean nodded.

"I'm gonna make you something to eat and bring you a beer, boy." Bobby smiled. "Well, Rufus'll bring it; the idjit needs work. You can't imagine how much the guy's done -- baked around 14 pies in the last 48 hours."

"I'm not hungry, Bobby." Dean stared at the ceiling, wishing he hadn't woken up. He felt wrong somehow. He'd thought he was going to die, and he'd been cool with it. He'd thought he'd find the rest he and his brother finally deserved.

"Shut up!" Bobby looked angrily at him. "Sam will be all right. You will be all right. Now keep your ass down for a couple more hours, and then I'll show ya what we found about the guys who took Sam in the first place -- including the demon that possessed your brother. Or you can listen to it all by yourself. Rufus and a couple of others were pretty active while you were out cold."

That caught Dean's attention. "So there's a plan?"

Bobby nodded, a sparkle in his eyes. "Yes, son, it sounds that way."

* * *

Another two days passed. Dean was up and around, feeling like the same old Winchester he'd been before.

Before he'd been stabbed by his demon-possessed brother.

He was sitting by the kitchen table with Bobby and Rufus, more or less enjoying a breakfast with coffee, bacon and scrambled eggs. Dean mostly just pushed the food around his plate, staring at the scrambled eggs like they were something he had to hunt down with his fork.

"Don't stab it, boy. Eat." Rufus raised his eyebrows, mouth full of bacon, and stared at Dean. "You're no fang, so stop playing with your food."

Dean had never thought seriously about Rufus before the past two days. He was truly a good friend, and already counted as family. Yeah, he was weird sometimes, and at points he acted like he wasn't the brightest bulb, but he was a friend. A true friend, a guy Dean knew he could count on -- assuming he gave him the right directions and orders, anyway.

A light smile rushed over Dean's face when he looked up. "Shaddap, Rufus." It was a thank you, Winchester-style. Then he let out a deep sigh, and his face turned dark and thoughtful again. "I think, if Sam doesn't wake up in the next twenty-four hours, we'll have to take him back to the hospital, no matter if I want to or not." The older sibling closed his eyes quietly for a second. "He's living on IVs right now, but he's going to starve. He's getting weaker already, and he'd already lost too much weight. He can't take this much longer."

Both older men just nodded, their gazes falling to their own plates.

It seemed like they'd all lost their appetites now.


	8. Don't You Dare

Chapter 8 ~ Don't You Dare

Dean left his plate with the half-eaten eggs and bacon on the table, grabbed one of the IVs and a sterile catheter from the cupboard, and headed upstairs towards his and Sam's room.

He had thought about moving into a different room, but rejected the idea. He mostly spent his time beside Sam's bed in one of the chairs, and he hadn't gotten a lot of sleep the past two nights. And anyway, he wanted to be there when he woke up.

He was concerned about Sam, about what shape his little brother would be when he did. Maybe his condition was much worse than they realized. Maybe the demon had just been playing with him all that time, and Sam was already gone. Maybe he'd never been there while the demon played his sadistic games. Maybe Sam was too broken to come back...

Maybe...

That thought shattered the older hunter's heart. Sorrow. Guilt. He'd been supposed to watch over Sam since he was born. Dean had thought a lot about it over the last week, all the fights they'd had in the past five years since their reunion. How many times they'd split up. He would've never thought that something like this could cause that much damage...

He thought about the anger he felt when the hospital called him about Sam, about the mix of fury and concern he'd felt when he entered the hospital -- and the shock when he finally saw his brother for the first time after nine weeks: Sam, under the shower, bruises and wounds exposed to Dean and the world. The fading scars from the stitches around his brother's lips that had kept his mouth shut. The healing gashes on his little brother's torso, thighs and legs...

... but the ones that hurt the worst weren't the visible injuries on his body. They would heal, and over the years the scars would fade. But what this thing could've done to Sam's mind, Dean didn't want to imagine. He refused to think about it -- he just couldn't.

The older sibling reached the bedroom door, still open a small gap like he'd left it. He took a deep breath, swallowing down all his worry before stepping in.

Dean's gaze fell instantly on his brother, and he froze without taking another step inside.

Sam had moved.

When Dean had left him, Sam was lying on his back. Now he was curled up on his right side, sheets and blankets pulled over his head.

The older hunter's eyes narrowed as he checked the form on the bed. It seemed a bit odd at first, like someone had stuffed pillows and blankets under it. It was almost like when Sam was three years old and his big brother would come to wake the little pain-in-the-ass up for breakfast. The memories brought a light smirk to Dean's face. Those were good memories -- they'd been happy, more or less, back then.

"Sammy?" he asked gently. The sheets and blanket moved a little bit, as if the form underneath had flinched.

"Sam?" Dean moved slowly to his brother's bed, putting the IV and the catheter on the nightstand beside it, and tried it once more. "Sammy? You awake?"

Of course he was... and his big brother hadn't been there when he woke up. He could've kicked his own ass for not being around.

The older hunter kneeled down beside the bed, hoping his brother wouldn't think of him as a threat. There was another movement under the sheets and blankets in response to Dean's softly spoken words, and then they remained still.

"C'mon, Sam, I'm going to unwrap you there." Dean lowered his voice -- maybe he was still too loud? ...or Sam couldn't recognize his voice...

"You're gonna smother yourself under those sheets, kiddo." Dean took a grip on the uppermost sheet-and-blanket layer and started to pull it back slowly. He didn't want to scare his little brother even more. Damn it, he didn't really even want to tear him out of the only situation where he probably felt safe, but he had to. Dean wasn't quite sure you could suffocate under layers of sheets, but he sure knew it couldn't be comfortable at all -- at least not for his brother's lungs.

He tilted the layers back, just far enough so he could see Sam's head. The younger Winchester just lay there, curled up with his hands over his ears as if he didn't want to hear something, his face buried between his knees.

Dean swallowed. He didn't know what to do. Did he dare touch him?

Something deep inside of him told him to go to Sam, to soothe him. To whisper gentle words to him, letting him know that his older brother was there. Although, after all that had happened, after their fight -- and especially since who knew what Sam remembered of everything that had happened since -- Dean wasn't sure if he deserved his brother's trust.

"You're a freak, Sam. A bloodsucking monster, fucking around with a demon whore. You exchanged me for Ruby. You've let me down like you always do. You ran away like you always do. You never wanted to be part of this family, and I sold my soul for a thing like you, even though Dad told me I'd probably have to kill ya..." 

Dean had wanted to hurt his brother with his words. He'd wanted him to feel the pain he'd felt after Sam's betrayal. "I wish I'd let you die in Cold Oak. I wish I'd never sold my soul for you. You're less worth than any monster I've ever killed. If you weren't my brother, Sam... if you weren't my brother, I would've killed you a long time ago." He'd seen the raw hurt in Sam's eyes, tears stinging... and then Dean had grinned at him -- he'd just grinned, because he knew he'd hurt him far more than beating him up ever could have done.

It still felt like yesterday. Dean remembered every single word he'd said to his little brother. He'd been so full of anger, doubt and wrath. And now... now he just wanted to have his brother back. He wanted Sammy, the geek boy, the walking encyclopedia of weirdness, his pain-in-the-ass-little-brother... but it was all different now.

Dean laid his hand over Sam's hand, still pressed to his ear. "C'mon, Sammy. Look at me, kiddo." He swallowed down his tears. "I know you're in there." He just had to be.

He felt Sam's hand loosening and guided it downwards. Then his little brother stirred. Hazel eyes blinked and then flew open, taking a careful look at the person beside him.

"That's my boy." Dean smiled softly, squeezing his brother's hand gently.

Sam's expression turned from confused and questioning into fear, pain, and disbelief... all within seconds.

* * *

This couldn't be real. It just couldn't. He wanted the darkness back. He didn't want to be here, not again. He didn't want to be awake. He wanted to be dead.

Sam knew what he'd done, had felt the knife dig into Dean's flesh. He remembered their fight. Dean was mad at him. The things he'd said, that he should have killed him like their dad had said. No, Sam shouldn't be here. He'd let Dean down. The only one he'd ever counted on, the only one who'd ever counted on him... at least, he thought Dean had. And damn it, Dean had been correct: What had his little brother ever done right?

Sam was poisoned with demon blood.

He'd run from his family to find his normal life in Stanford.

He'd died, and made Dean sell his soul.

He'd let him down with a demon -- let him down so many times it hurt. And now that he'd done everything wrong, now that his brother didn't trust him anymore... what was he worth now? What was his life worth? Why had Dean even come for him?

His head hurt like a bitch. No, his whole body hurt like a bitch. This all was -- he just deserved it, he deserved all of it, Sam knew it. Oh god, his head hurt. All these thoughts, emotions, all this guilt. Why hadn't they just killed him? Why hadn't they just ended him like they should have?

Because they wanted to use him to kill his brother, that's why. They wanted him to kill Dean, and he knew he'd at least hurt his brother badly. He'd seen all the blood back there in Bobby's kitchen.

...although something was different now. He could feel it. The voices were gone. The voices that told him that he wasn't worth anything, the voices that constantly told him he was a monster, that he didn't deserve a brother like Dean... they were gone. Just memories now. It didn't matter, though -- they were right. Sam knew he was just a burden on his big brother. That's all he ever was and ever would be.

"Sammy..." he knew it was Dean's voice. He knew his brother was calling for him... but he just couldn't. All the fear. All the pain. All the emotions rushing through his mind and body. His thoughts jumped, tearing at him, teasing him, rushing back and forth, up and down. Dean's words echoed in his ears over and over again. He was a freak, a monster, not worth saving...

"Sam?" Dean called again, and he opened his eyes and saw him... saw his brother beside him, emerald eyes smiling down at him, squeezing his hand.

* * *

Dean knelt there beside Sam, holding his hand, talking to him. It had been more than half an hour now, but it didn't seem like Sam had heard a single word he said ...or worse: maybe he didn't understand...

It didn't matter. Sam was alive and awake. That was all that counted right now. He would figure out the rest, whatever it would be. Whatever this whole situation meant. Whatever it would take, Dean would do it for his little brother.

Sam's expression didn't change as he began to cry silently. No noise left his mouth, no sobs... nothing. Just tears over tears, wetting the pillow under his head.

Dean lay his hand on Sam's cheek and rubbed the tears away with his thumb. "It's okay, Sammy. I'm here... I've got you." The older sibling brushed his other hand over Sam's hair. "Don't you cry, kiddo. Everything's going to be okay. You're safe now, trust me."

Sam moved his head a little more so that his mouth wasn't covered by his knees. Hazel eyes meet green ones.

"Please." It was silent, but unmistakable.

Dean's eyes locked with Sam's, and the older brother smiled -- damn it, Sam was talking. "It's okay, Sammy, you're safe," he repeated comfortingly.

"Please..." Sam's voice sounded steadier, more self-assured. "Please... end this."

Dean's heart shattered. His brother didn't have to say what he should end, he could sense it, but he had to make sure there was no chance of a misunderstanding.

"What, Sam?" He nearly choked on his own words. "What do you want me to end?"

"Please, Dean." This broken sound, eyes pleading. "Please, end this... I don't... please... please... I can't-- END THIS, please, Dean."

Dean's face sharpened, eyes serious, all the joy over his brother's awaking gone. He looked away, trying to focus on something else -- the plaid of the blanket on the bed. Was Sam honestly asking him for this?

"No."

Dean let his hand slip from Sam's cheek and stood up quickly, squeezing his eyes shut as he turned away. "No, Sam."

He left the room without looking back.

Dean needed air, fresh air. It felt like something had closed tight around his ribcage and throat. He had to get out. He nearly stumbled over the stairs on his way down, then caught himself, rushing on past Rufus and out the front door. Out of Bobby's house and everything in it, down the few steps of the porch, and into the salvage's backyard, where he would be alone for sure.

He almost hoped that Rufus dared to follow him. At least then he'd have someone whose nose he could break, damn it. He so wanted to hurt someone right now. He wanted to beat the shit out of someone else, since he couldn't beat himself up.

That wasn't Sam. Sam would never ask him for a favor like that. He would never even consider something like that... would he?

Who the fuck knew what they'd done to him. Who knew in what ways the demon had messed with his little brother's head... and he'd paved the road for them, all on his own. What kind of brother would say the things he'd said? Would tell him to split up for good this time and take off? Dean had. And Sam hadn't even given him shit for it.

Now he wanted to hurt someone even more, break some bones, and Dean knew exactly who would hurt for this: The bastard they had locked down in the barn.

While Dean was watching Sam, Rufus and a couple of his friends had gotten a hold of a demon. Tied him down to a demon-proof chair with a devil's trap on the floor and another one on the ceiling, and angel sigils all around the wooden walls to make sure no one else interrupted his little chat. The bastard would pay for every single slice, bruise and scratch his companions had given Dean's brother.

He'd tell Dean everything he wanted to know. Everything... no matter how long it took. Dean hadn't been Alistair's best for nothing. He'd mastered the art of torture.

* * *

Seven days had passed since Sam had woken up. Seven days of silence, obedience and quiet tears. Sam hadn't let a single word slip since he'd asked his big brother to end it all and been denied.

Only Dean was allowed to get near him, to touch him, to change the bandages and check on his bruises. Only Dean was able to enter the room without Sam hiding in the furthest corner. He barely left the room, not even when Dean went downstairs. Sam refused to follow.

Dean was still worried. Sam didn't eat as much as he was supposed to. He didn't even drink as much as he should. Rufus had managed to make a run for supplies a couple of days ago, bought fruit and all that rabbit food Sam usually loved. It was rotting outside in the trash now.

Sam had changed. Dean hoped that one day he would be at least half the Sam he knew. This was all so screwed up. He wished he could make it all up to his little brother, take back all the words he'd purposefully said to hurt him. Damn, he would have traded places with him, no matter what.

The older Winchester had a full plate on a tray in his hands when he went downstairs to the kitchen. Sam just had picked at his breakfast. Now it was cold after standing nearly untouched on the bed for a couple of hours. Dean would try something different for lunch later. Maybe this Sam liked bacon cheeseburgers and fries. He'd eaten them in the hospital, anyway.

"Just give him time." Bobby was sitting in his wheelchair at the kitchen table when Dean entered the room.

"Please, Bobby, don't. Just don't. He's a mess." Dean snarled and bit his lower lip. He couldn't believe his own words.

The older Winchester put the tray on the counter next to the sink and turned around. "I don't know if I can deal with this by myself. He ain't talkin', he ain't eatin'. He doesn't even look at me, Bobby."

"Oh, c'mon, stop whining, boy." Dean had missed that grumpy voice this past week. "Pull yourself together. He's your brother, of course you'll deal with it. And you're not all alone, by the way. You've got me. And Rufus... occasionally." Bobby glared with wide eyes at his adopted boy. "You've all the time you need for fixing it."

Dean glared at the retired hunter. "Time?! Time is the one thing we don't have. It's the a-freaking-pocalypse. Seals are gettin' broken and we should be stopping it. We have to stop it." He sighed, his gaze falling on the clock on the wall above the table. It was just after 11:00 a.m.

"You don't have to do nothing about it," Bobby stated firmly. "There are plenty of other hunters out there, and Castiel. You take care of your brother until he's ready to face the world. You can't fight both of those battles at the same time. Try it and you're gonna lose one of them."

The former hunter sighed at Dean's expression. "Don't be a jerk now, Dean."

"Of course I can't fight on both fronts -- not with my brother gone all 'beautiful mind.' He's just... he's not Sam, you know? Not the Sam I know. He's completely different. It's like he's given up. That's not the Sam I want. I want my Sam back. Geekboy. The one who knows everything better than you and makes bitch-faces." Dean paused. "He's all I've got, Bobby."

"That's why you're going to take care of him... and then you'll both take care of any seals, the apocalypse and Lucifer himself." Bobby smiled, his eyes glittering wickedly. "Speaking of which, what about that bitch in the barn? He spit out anything useful yet?"

Dean let out another sigh as he uncapped his beer bottle and swallowed a mouthful. "Not really... just that the demons that grabbed Sam didn't support Lucifer rising. Which, obviously, is pissing off the ones that do support Lucifer. So that tribe of rebels are now being hunted by their own, and I guess they're hiding pretty well at the moment."

He took another swig. "And damn, the bastard is pretty nervous about Lucy being back and all that stuff. I've got a feeling he'd rather die before telling me what's really up." Another pause, then he continued. "...And he was pretty confused about Sam."

"You talked about your brother with that sonofabitch?" Bobby asked in disbelief.

Dean shook his head. "I didn't -- he did. Obviously they got ahold of the bastard we sent back downstairs a week ago. Apparently Lucy ain't happy about suckers who hurt his vessel." He paused again. "Lucy can't wear Sam for prom if he doesn't give him permission, so on the bright side, the way Sam is right now there's probably no chance of Lucy getting him to say anything. In that way, I guess it's not that bad."

For a moment, Dean wasn't sure if he'd said that last part out loud. Then he looked up to meet angry old eyes.

"You seen your brother lately, Dean? It's worse than bad. He ain't happy. He probably ain't in this world right now. How could you even say it's not that bad the way it is right now?" The old man's voice rose in anger with every word that left his lips. "If I could still kick the shit out of you, boy, I'd do it, right now. You sound like your dad, you know that?" Then, still grumpy but more softly: "Don't be like John, Dean. Hold onto Sam, and Sam will hold onto you. It might take time, but he will heal, and you both will survive all this."

Bobby rolled towards the fridge and got himself a beer. "When Rufus is done digging in the Katzunes, he'll get us some burgers from town. Now, what do you think Sam would like?"

* * *

Late that day, Dean was on his way upstairs to bring his 'beautiful mind' brother his bacon cheeseburger and fries, paper bag in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. After the first few steps, though, he looked up and stopped. Sam was sitting on the upper step, knees tight to his chest, both hazel eyes watching his big brother.

Dean hadn't gone upstairs since he'd carried the nearly untouched breakfast back down to the kitchen earlier. Now, over two hours later, his brother had left the room for the first time since he had woken up.

Dean stopped without coming any closer. He didn't know if he should. He didn't know if this Sam was Sam-in-the-hospital Sam or another demon playing another sick game with them both.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean smiled softly.

Sam's words echoed in his mind... "End this, Dean." He banished the thought from his mind, pretending it had never had happened. "I've got lunch for the both of us, kiddo. What do you say? Hungry?"

Sam didn't talk back to his big brother these days. He simply followed orders, unless it was about leaving the room, or eating or drinking something. Everything else about his behavior had been more than obedient. He acted extremely subservient, to be honest, another fact that scared the shit out of his big brother at times.

Sam looked at Dean pleadingly, his big hazel eyes full of fear, pain and anxiety.

"Wanna go downstairs?" Dean smelled an opportunity to get his little brother at least into the living room for the first time. "It's better to eat down there. We won't mess the bed up, kiddo." He kept his smile soft as he climbed up another step.

Sam flinched, beginning to breathe fast.

Dean groaned. He knew he wouldn't get an answer, so he set the bottle down and reached out a hand to his brother. "C'mon, let's go." 

After a couple of seconds, his younger brother responded to Dean's prompt with a shaky hand. However, the further down the stairs they went, the more frantic Sam's breathing became. When Dean noticed, he slowed down, giving his brother more time to adjust. Finally, Sam stopped at the bottom of the stairs and wouldn't move any farther.

The older Winchester stood there too, and turned towards the younger. "Just a few more yards, Sam, and we're in the kitchen." Dean looked at him hopefully, pulling a little bit on his hand like he might leave him behind if Sam didn't follow. "C'mon, just you, me, and Bobby."

Sam stumbled backwards. His breath started to hitch as he lost control over the rise and fall of his chest. His heart beat even faster as less oxygen reached his lungs.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, kiddo. Nice and slow, okay?" Dean dropped the paper bag and sat down beside his brother, rubbing his back carefully. "C'mon, nice and slow, Sammy. It's okay."

* * *

Sam put his hand on the left side of his chest, trying to follow Dean's directions, but he couldn't, he just couldn't... He'd failed again. He felt it in his chest, he'd failed. As Dean's voice got more forceful, everything seemed lost again.

Just one single order, and he couldn't follow it.

* * *

"Hey, Sam, don't you dare. C'mon boy, breathe." Anxiety rose in Dean as he tried to keep his voice low. It wasn't easy. "Just-- just slow down for me, Sam. Please? I didn't mean it." He could do nothing but watch as Sam's face got progressively paler as he tightened his grip on his chest, trying to catch a breath as he hyperventilated.

Without thinking, Dean pulled Sam into a hug. He'd wanted to do that since his brother woke up -- hug him, show him how sorry he was for everything that had been said, for everything that had happened. A hug between them had always meant more than a thousand words could express.

It hurt Dean that something simple like going down the stairs affected his brother this way, inciting a major panic attack like this, and he cursed himself for not seeing the signs of it. He felt small drops of water hitting his flannel shirt; Sam was crying again, those same silent tears from deep within. 

"You know it's okay. I'm sorry. You don't have to, okay? You don't have to. We can just sit here and wait until it's over, little brother, okay?" He cursed himself for not giving in and letting Sam stay where he was. Dean knew his brother wasn't himself right now, and obviously couldn't tell where his natural boundaries were.

Sam began to calm down as he curled up beside him, shifting his head into Dean's lap. The older man began to pet his hair, brushing his tears away on occasion. His little brother seemed so small and vulnerable right now, wasted and exhausted. Dean couldn't blame him for wanting to end this... but he couldn't let him give up. He had to get him through this, no matter how, no matter what. He couldn't let his brother go that easily.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I shouldn't have pushed you like that. I'm sorry. I know you can't. I was just too stubborn to see it." Dean rubbed Sam's arm gently, trying to soothe him more. It seemed to work, at least a little. He didn't know how long they sat there before Sam shifted a little bit and looked up at his big brother, tightening his grip on Dean's tear-damp flannel.

* * *

The younger Winchester didn't know why he was afraid. He couldn't explain it to anyone. Thoughts and memories, everything was mixed up -- shouting, whispering, hissing. The fear stuck with him, deep inside his bones, so he'd just done what he used to do when he was a toddler, just followed Dean and his orders and suggestions as best he could.

He wanted to scream and cry.

Well, really, he wanted to end it all, the way he always did since he'd woken up seven days ago -- since he'd remembered everything that had happened -- but Dean had told him no, so he wouldn't ...at least for now.

* * *

To Dean's surprise, it was Sam himself who sat up and reached for the paper bag, although not without checking with his brother like he was asking for permission before he touched it. That stabbed Dean right in his heart. Had he really ever given his brother the feeling that he needed to ask for simple things like this?

They sat there for a long time, quietly eating the cold burgers and fries. Dean could've used the microwave to warm them up, but that would've meant leaving his little brother alone...

The older Winchester took his time, watching his brother as he slowly ate, shredding the burger into little pieces before eating it. Every now and then, Sam looked over to his brother to see if he had finished yet.

Dean thought he'd figured Sam's eating out. If no one else was eating, Sam wouldn't eat, and as soon as the other person finished, he stopped as well. Where that behavior came from, Dean wasn't sure he wanted to know. He just knew he'd fix it.

The younger man sipped at his can of Coke, and then handed it over to Dean, asking with his eyes as they fixated on his big brother's beer. The older sibling smiled and took a last gulp from the bottle before handing it over to Sam, taking the Coke in exchange.

* * *

The next day, late in the morning...

Since Rufus had left for a hunt two states over, the older Winchester figured he'd go on a supply run by himself. Sam was asleep and Bobby would be busy with research for Rufus' hunt, and they had a fallen angel to watch over his sleeping brother. He'd figured it wouldn't take much more than an hour to get back to Bobby's, but it hadn't been as easy as he'd hoped to find the right size of sweatpants for his little brother. He'd lost a lot of weight, and needed some new trousers for the time being.

Dean knew something was different when he returned with the supplies. Something wasn't right -- in fact, something was way beyond 'not right.' And when he stood in front of Bobby's house and heard screams, the color drained from his face.

In one fast motion, Dean dropped the bags and drew his loaded gun.


	9. Bullets

Chapter 9 ~ Bullets

Bobby was busy with the chili on the stove, pouring some more ingredients in before he could add the beans, when he felt someone or something watching him. He knew the feeling well; he wouldn't have been a hunter long if he wasn't able to sense when he was being observed. It had saved his life on more than one occasion.

Since the incident with an injured, broken and possessed Sam, Bobby had started keeping his sawed-off, rock-salt-loaded shotgun with him at all times. He figured a revolver or pistol would be too dangerous, since everyone in the house (meaning him and Dean, and Rufus on occasion) had a trigger finger like they were hunting a wendigo in the woods.

He decided to wait until whoever was watching him sprang into action... but nothing actually happened. For about 30 minutes, he felt eyes on his back -- minutes in which he kept asking himself what he should do next. Finally, he reached for the sawed-off in his lap and spun his wheelchair around with a single move of his hand; the finger of his other hand on the trigger.

No one knew how surprised Bobby was to see Sam leaning in the doorway, watching him cook. Despite everything he'd said to Dean so far, he actually hadn't thought that the kid would ever leave his room again.

Sam's face darkened and he frowned, but he didn't flinch.

"Boy, I could've killed you!" Bobby barked, easing his finger off the trigger and putting the shotgun back in his lap.

Sam frowned even more, like he didn't understand. His hazel eyes looked down at the shotgun in Bobby's lap and started to tear up.

"I'm sorry, Sam." Bobby put on a friendly smile, one some folks for sure didn't even know he was capable of. "I just didn't expect you down here, I-uh-" He looked at the younger man for a couple of seconds before continuing. "...Wanna help me here?"

Sam shook his head.

Well, the kid at least understood him.

"Are you hungry?" Bobby wasn't sure what to say. He wished Dean was here. No such luck, though; the older brother had left just a couple of minutes ago.

Sam shook his head.

The older hunter sighed. "Thirsty?" Hopefully he was, otherwise this was going to get pretty awkward. He didn't know how to handle the kid at the moment.

Sam shook his head again.

Remembering that Castiel was supposed to be with Sam, Bobby asked, "Where's Cas?" Sam shrugged. Well... A certain angel needed his butt kicked, that was for sure.

A glorious idea came to the older hunter's mind. "You know what? Rufus installed a TV in the living room. Why don't you watch a movie?" Although he had no clue how to get this new technology to run; the thing didn't even have a knob to switch it on.

The kid looked lost... and the more questions Bobby asked, the more confused Sam seemed to get. Damn...

With a groan, the older man wheeled himself forwards. "You go and watch TV, son. I'll take care of lunch, and when Dean's back, we'll eat." Sam just nodded and let the former hunter pass by with his wheelchair, holding his injured side as he followed him.

"Sit down," Bobby said, once he realized that Sam wouldn't do anything he wasn't told to do. The older man managed to turn the TV on with the clicker.

He heard a wheezing sound behind him as Sam sat down on the old couch. When he turned around, Sam was sitting there, curled up, never letting him out of sight.

Bobby put the remote control on the table in front of the boy, noticing Sam eying one the books on the table in front of him. Bobby had referenced it earlier to tell Rufus something about the hunt he'd left on earlier.

"You go and choose something," Bobby said. "Rufus said something about over fifty channels..." He stopped talking as his adopted son reached for the book and started to flip through it.

* * *

Dean knew something was different when he returned with the supplies. Something wasn't right -- in fact, something was way beyond 'not right.' And when he stood in front of Bobby's house and heard screams, the color drained from his face.

In one fast motion, Dean dropped the bags and drew his loaded gun.

There was a yell and a loud bump, and then everything went silent inside the house.

Dean took a deep breath before he snuck inside, trying not to step on one of the croaking tiles under the carpet. He was pretty sure the thump had come from the living room.

He unlocked his weapon as silently as possible. Everything was silent -- too silent for his liking. A knot started to form in his throat. Bobby should have been downstairs or somewhere in the yard, since he couldn't get upstairs on his own. And Sam, well, Sam was supposed to be asleep or at least in his room, with an angel watching over him.

The older Winchester sensed movement and saw something from the corner of his right eye. Someone -- or something -- was in the living room.

"Bobby?!" Dean hesitantly called out.

No response.

He pressed his back against the wall next to the door into the living room. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, GO!

Everything happened quickly -- too damn quickly. He recognized something tall jumping up from the floor, heard a muffled scream... and then his gun went off before Dean had even realized his finger was pulling the trigger. Then there was a fluttering noise, a flapping trench coat, and an angel knocking Dean's gun out of his hand.

And then... everything went silent and still. All that was left was the struggling of an actress on TV trying not to get ripped apart by Freddy Krueger.

Dean swallowed hard, eyes on the giant sasquatch in the middle of the room.

Sam let the book in his hands drop. He was surprised and overwhelmed by what had just happened, including the burning sensation in his right bicep.

"Sammy?" Dean asked in disbelief as his brother reached for his newest injury.

One second Cas was in front of Dean, and the next he was there to catch Sam before he could fall over when he lost his balance. It was probably shock rather than any serious injury; the younger man had only suffered a small scratch from the bullet that had thankfully missed its mark.

Dean pointed at his brother. "What the hell are you doing down here?" ... and damn it, he could literally see his brother fall apart in front of him after the words were out and the damage was done.

"Are you hurt?" Dean took a step towards his brother, who responded by taking a step back. The older Winchester kept his voice low but serious. "Did I hit you?"

"What the hell is going on in there?!" came a grumpy voice from the entrance of the house. "Sam?! Sam, is that you?"

Sam's breathing accelerated. "Sorry?" he whispered, hazel eyes pleading, as Bobby rolled into the room with his drawn shotgun. "Sorry... so sorry... please..." The younger man's eyes began to water once more.

Dean needed to calm down and he knew it. He tried to compose himself, control his voice, before attempting to go near Sam. He needed to show him that nothing bad had happened, that he had done nothing wrong -- well, at least, Sam hadn't done anything wrong.

"Sammy. It's okay... just -- let me take a look, okay?" He tried to stay as calm as possible and keep his voice low, but he still sounded too serious to his own ears. "Let me take a look at you. I just wanna make sure I didn't hurt you, kiddo. Please."

Dean took another step towards Sam. Sam took another step backwards, away from his brother and the angel at his side.

Barely two yards away now, Dean reached out towards his brother. "C'mon, let me see." He added what he was sure was a pretty bad fake smile to his words. "Let me see, and then we'll go and get lunch. Bobby made chili."

It was taking the older Winchester everything he had not to smash his brother's head against the wall. It took everything in him not to move over to his little brother and punch him right in the face, just for being who he was right now.

Because his Sam -- his Sam would've given a response, even when he had called out for Bobby. His Sam wouldn't have let himself get nearly shot by Dean.

It had been a damn freaking movie. A movie had nearly made him shoot his little brother. Just a damn freaking horror movie.

Dean was on the edge. He was worn out, tired and actually starving to death right now. Why the hell was his brother even watching that? What the hell was he even doing downstairs? Dean was glad that his little brother had decided to come downstairs. It was just his timing that was horrible.

* * *

Dean sat beside his brother on the couch, watching TV. This time the movie playing was Finding Nemo. Sam was still sniffling and shaking from it all -- the gunshot, the pain from the bullet that had clipped his bicep, and then Dean's harsh words. But despite that, he seemed comfortable, curled up on the couch, head in his big brother's lap, both hands wrapped around his thighs.

The older sibling couldn't help but smile. It was weird having his younger brother again like this, snuggling and cuddling like the world was going to end -- well, the world was going to end... but they had stopped cuddling when Sam finally started school, and they'd never since been that close physically.

Dean pulled the blanket he'd brought Sam back at the hospital over his brother's shoulders, wondering if this would ever end. Was it possible for Sam to get over this?

Would he ever get his old Sam back?

"He's okay, Dean." Cas stood stock-still beside them, like a lamp waiting to be switched on. "I fixed it."

Dean just nodded, letting his finger run through Sam's hair and stroking the bangs away from his face. "Thanks, Cas." He let out a deep sigh. Why did everything have to be so messed up?

Castiel nodded. "I have to go, Dean. But if you need me, just call. Do you understand?" The older hunter nodded again and looked gratefully at the angel.

Right after Cas left, Bobby wheeled into the room with a tray on his lap. Three smoking bowls of Singer's Special Chili sat on it, plus two beers and one Coke.

Bobby's gaze fell on the younger Winchester. "After dinner, I think we should empty all the loaded weapons."

Dean nodded. Oh, hell yeah. He felt guilty. In fact, he felt damn bad... nauseous, and the start of a headache coming on. He was tired, very tired, but he knew he couldn't leave his brother just for a couple of hours' sleep -- not in a different room, anyway.

"It's okay, Sam, huh?" Dean said quietly. "You were scared?"

Sam blinked his tears away before he sat back up, wiping his nose on the arm of his hoodie. He didn't respond, just looked at Dean with sorrow-filled hazel eyes. Oh god, he felt so damn sorry for everything...

"It's okay to be scared." Dean knew he sounded like he was talking to a five-year-old who'd skinned his knee. He still wasn't sure what kind of Sam Winchester he was dealing with -- how far his mind reached, what things he understood and what he didn't. "I was scared, too."

* * *

The demon choked on the mixture of holy water and rock salt mix that Dean had forced down its throat. The bastard tried to scream, but in its place came a bubbling noise. And Dean Winchester was just warming up.

"Tell me, bitch." Dean held Ruby's knife in his hand as he circled the possessed woman.

"I told you!" the demon hissed as it gurgled. "I don't know what plans they had. Hell, no one knows. Lucifer's on their heels -- he's going to destroy them for hurting his vessel. It's none of your business anymore, Winchester."

Dean walked around the chair once again. The demon was struggling, straining against the straps of leather across her arms, feet, legs and torso.

She was a pretty girl, surely not older than thirty. But Dean knew... he couldn't exorcise the girl. She was already too damaged from the blessed iron nails, cuts and bruises. She would die anyways. The hunter just hoped the girl inside this body couldn't feel any of it.

The demon giggled. "I heard a lot of things downstairs. I heard how your brother begged -- screamed -- for mercy. At the end, he couldn't even recognize what was happening to him. He didn't even realize he was possessed. I heard he was screaming on the inside, though. Honestly, Dean, I thought a Winchester wouldn't break that easily."

"You son of a bitch," Dean singsonged, keeping his voice low and emotionless. "I know you're lying." He grinned dangerously, swallowing down the urge to kill this demon bastard right then and there. "The one I had for breakfast, he told me a whole lot more. I killed him because I was in a good mood after I was done with him. You, bitch... you're not making me happy right now. I don't think I should kill you; I think I should just send your ass straight back to Hell." The hunter glared at his captive, running the blade of his knife over the possessed woman's cheek.

The demon looked terrified by the threat. "No, no, please -- they'd know I talked to you. The things they do... it's hell."

Ignoring the demon's words, Dean carried on. "I know you know more than the last one. He told me so. You're a trader, a crossroads demon -- practically a walking newspaper of Hell, aren't you?"

"I-I -- I don't know what you're talking about." She was panting now.

"You know everything that happens downstairs." Dean began another circle around the chair.

"I know most of it, but not everything. I know about you and your brother. We knew you guys split up after you exorcised that demon in Arizona. We got a direct order not to touch the vessels. But some of us, well," she grinned knowingly and her voice went soft, "some of us weren't very excited about the idea of Lucifer and Michael walking free, looking for their vessels and... stuff. Some of us want things to stay as it is. Some of us don't want this fight, not in our lifetime. Some of us just want to mess with God's sandbox." She took a breath. "Where would I get my deals from when this world ends, when there are no souls left to collect?"

Dean stopped behind her and ran the blade down her neck, keeping it on her throat. "Spill."

"They captured your brother to kill you. They possessed him because it would be a lot easier to get close to you."

"Tell me something I don't already know." Dean tried to hide his anger and fear, not letting it show in his voice.

"Okay, okay. Something you don't know--" she smirked again evilly "--is that I heard your brother should be dead... Is he?"

Dean was glad she couldn't see all the emotions turning his gut upside-down right now.

"Is he dead?" she asked again.

"He's doing well," Dean answered, letting a smirk swing in his voice. "He's pretty much alive, to be honest."

She laughed sweetly. "I knew those guys would mess it up."

"Mess what up?" Dean asked, frowning.

"I heard that Sam wouldn't last much longer than you. Actually, I expected you to have killed each other by now." She chuckled. "Since he's still alive, I'm guessing you honestly think he's going to survive this. But the things I've been told..." The demon stopped as if she had burned her tongue.

Silence...

Dean gave her a few more seconds, then started the exorcism without warning.

"Stop, no! STOP, Winchester!"

Dean glared at her. "Tell me what you've been told, bitch, or I'll slaughter your vessel and send you straight back to hell."

She was panting again, and then her eyes went black. "It's much more fun this way, don't you think, Dean? Hearing how you failed, how you weren't able to save your little brother from all of this? Watching as your brother will be torn to shreds by no one else but himself? He'll destroy himself while you watch." She put on a winning smile. "It's so sweet when you suffer, Winchester. Sweeter than the rack that belongs to you in Hell, boy. Maybe I won't live long enough to watch... but man, it's definitely worth it."

Dean swallowed and closed his eyes. He would've liked to stab this bitch right now and here, but no... She actually hadn't told him anything new except that Sam shouldn't have survived the event over a week ago, and that he was supposed to 'destroy himself.' What the hell was that even supposed to mean?

Sam's state wasn't that bad. He'd improved. Dean hadn't seen him yet today, but he was sure he would improve further, slowly but surely. He was eating more, moving around Bobby's house -- well, except for the basement -- and was actually helping Bobby with some stuff in his library. He still had his moments when something unexpected happened or someone yelled, but Dean didn't consider that a problem any longer. It would go away and improve, just like the rest did.

Two hours later, the older Winchester finally began to chant the exorcism spell in a low voice. But just before he uttered the last words, he stopped short and slammed Ruby's knife into the demon's chest instead.


	10. Hollow

Chapter 10 ~ Hollow

Sam was too tired. Tired of everything.

Since when did Winchesters freak out about a bang? When had he become so unstable and vulnerable? It was just a bullet. He had no idea how he could have missed his brother coming in. Hell, he wouldn't have even noticed in time if a damn horde of werewolves had broken into the house and slaughtered everyone in there.

His instincts? Gone.

The more time passed, the clearer his mind got, the calmer his thoughts were, and the weirder everything started to get. The more he reached out of the dark corner in his mind where he felt completely safe, the less clue he had about what must've happened to him. It was just like something didn't want him to be him again. Like something had still control over him, telling him to be obedient or else he would hurt even more. And this something -- whatever the hell it was -- made him feel unbelievable useless.

Sam wasn't Sam anymore. He could feel it.

He couldn't even say why he was the way he was now. Yes, he could see the scars on his body, and the fading bruises. He was still sore as hell, even though it felt like an eternity since he'd woken up to find himself back among the living. He felt just wrong, like he didn't belong there. Like he didn't belong in this world.

Hollow.

He barely remembered the original fight between him and Dean. He knew there'd been one, and he knew it was bad. He remembered some of the things Dean had said, and also some things he'd brought up. More than that, he remembered that it hurt. It hurt like hell.

He remembered that Dean had been mad at him. Damn mad. Mad enough to leave the parking lot of the motel with the Impala and his duffel-bag, leaving $200 on the bedside table for Sam. He hadn't taken it -- at least, he didn't remember taking it? What he did remember was that it hurt like he was being ripped apart from the inside to watch Baby's red tail lights fade away into the darkness of the night.

After that, there were a few flashes of a hunt, and then a whole lot of shorter flashes of what came later. He knew there was pain. He knew he was alone, and that it was cold, and that even more pain followed. Voices. Cruel laughter. Loneliness. Then the smell of a hospital, and Dean... holding him, rocking him. There weren't images, really, more like flashes of feelings and then -- then always, the pain.

Flashes of Bobby's house and Dean, bleeding. But -- Dean was fine? He didn't seem injured... Sam tried to remember, honestly tried to remember what had happened, but he just couldn't. It was like a damn wall that didn't want to break.

Sam wondered what had happened between him and Dean after they split up. He hadn't expected to see his brother ever again. Hell, he hadn't expected Dean would ever again look at him as the little brother that he was. His recent small smiles, gentle words, comforting gestures, and all the cuddling and snuggling -- the Dean he remembered would have broken his nose just for invading his personal space.

This was just so damn confusing and disturbing. He felt like he couldn't get a clear thought between all of this and the feeling that he just had to end this--

...that he didn't belong...

At the moment, Sam was worried. He hadn't seen his brother since he woke up yesterday night, and now Bobby was preparing lunch and Dean was still outside somewhere. Sam had been on his bare feet since then, roaming through the whole house in search of his brother. When he couldn't find him anywhere, he sat down on the old couch in the living room, staring out into the yard and not letting the black Impala out of his sight.

It was past one p.m., and Sam was sitting directly on the windowsill now, leaning against it where the wall and window met above the couch. Still staring out of the window at the Impala. Dean wasn't gone -- the Impala was still there, so Dean had to be around somewhere.

Sam refused to go back to sleep. He hadn't touched the breakfast Bobby made for him. And he wouldn't leave the window, even for just a second.

* * *

Dean left the barn around two. Time to eat. Time to check on Sam. The comforting aroma of grilled chicken and cherry pie enveloped him as he entered the house through the back door.

Dean was a mess. No, worse than a mess. His body was crying for a shower and rest. He had dark shadows under his eyes and was covered in dirt. Dirt and blood, mostly. And he stank -- stank like demon, death and dirt. He was exhausted, and tired, and he felt bad about leaving his little brother sound asleep in his room, alone. About not letting him know where he was going, or that he was leaving.

It was for the best, though. He wouldn't have been able to get away to take care of the demon Rufus and his guys had captured otherwise. He'd wasted the bastard fast -- well, faster than the bitch that came afterwards, at least. Both had given him reasons to worry about Sam. The possessed girl whose body he'd just buried in the backyard had told him some unsettling things. Things that made him wonder. Things he didn't want to know.

He tried to shove her words aside for a couple of hours. Maybe he'd take a nap with Sam after lunch. This Sam didn't mind taking a nap at any time of day, even if he just lay there and listened to Dean's heartbeat.

* * *

"Sam?"

Bobby was worried, he definitely was. The kid hadn't slept since he'd walked into the living room last night. Bobby had been sound asleep on the couch at the time, but his hunter senses kicked in and he became aware that someone was checking the house room by room.

Since then, he hadn't gotten a second of sleep either.

"Dean's gonna be back soon, kiddo, don't you worry." Bobby wouldn't tell the boy that he knew where Dean had gone. Of course Bobby knew where he was -- in the barn, trying to get information about the demons that had captured his brother.

Sam didn't move. He stared out the window, lost in his mind.

Bobby heard steps on the stairs, echoing through the halls. Finally. Dean had returned from his little excursion to the barn, shaved, showered and with clean clothes. He wore a gentle smile when he entered the room, attracting Bobby's attention from where he was lingering over a book on the table.

The older Winchester raised an eyebrow at the retired hunter. Bobby knew he looked like he hadn't gotten a single minute of sleep the night before. He hadn't.

Dean was the first one to break the constricting silence. "How are you two holding up?"

Sam didn't seem to recognize him or his presence, which made Dean frown. He and Bobby continued to look at Sam. The younger Winchester just continued sitting on the windowsill, leaning his forehead against the window as he stared outside.

"Sam?" Dean asked quietly, concern filling his voice.

Sam didn't move.

The older brother took in his sibling's features, his pale face and lightly flushed cheeks. "Sammy?" he spoke a little bit louder.

The younger man just blinked once, then continued staring, never letting the black beauty out of his sight.

* * *

Dean wasn't there.

Sam couldn't feel his presence anywhere near him. He knew he'd been there when they went to sleep -- he had been holding onto his brother's shirt. He remembered that. And then he woke up, and everything was cold, and he was alone... again...

And maybe the voices had been right. They were gone for sure now, but Sam remembered what they'd kept telling him, bits and pieces of it. Maybe they had been speaking the truth. Maybe it was true -- Dean would really leave him for good some day.

... and when his brother was really gone, what reason would Sam have to stay in this world?

* * *

Dean went to the couch and sat down, observing his brother. The younger Winchester seemed so far away, deep in thought. He looked peaceful and innocent when he was lost like this.

"Sam, you with me?" The older Winchester reached up and laid his hand on Sam's lower leg. "Sam?"

That softly spoken Sam snuck into the younger man's thoughts.

"Sammy?" Dean softly rubbed his brother's knee. "Are you in there?"

Dean's voice... Sammy...

Sam inhaled a deep breath, like a swimmer taking his first breath after breaking the water's surface. The younger man turned his head slowly away from the window, looking at the hand rubbing circles into the fabric of his sweatpants. Then his gaze moved up to meet emerald eyes.

Instantly, Sam slid down from the sill onto the couch besides his brother and slung his long arms around him.

"Whoa, kiddo." Dean chuckled and hugged him back. "Missed me?"

Sam still wasn't talking at all.

Later, they had lunch in the kitchen. Sam picked at his food but barely ate a thing. He just stared at the plate in front of him and swallowed a couple of times.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said with concern. "Not hungry?" He was waiting for a response, for a sign of any emotion to cross Sam's features -- a reminder that he was still in there somewhere. The whole situation frustrated him at the moment, plain and simple.

Dean and Bobby exchanged thoughtful looks.

"You there?" The older Winchester grabbed his little brother's bicep and held him tight. "Sam?" He raised his voice.

Sam flinched and looked up as he snapped out of his thoughts. His eyes looked hollow and exhausted.

"Eat something, understand?" Dean sounded grumpy, his voice stable and forceful. He wasn't going to accept any kind of protest.

Sam flinched again and reached for the fork, shaky hands guiding it over the plate. He managed to swallow one bite, but had trouble with the second. As he felt the food go down, his eyes started to water. He'd felt sick since he got up last night, and now, with the filled plate under his nose, his nausea started to grow.

Bobby looked up, checking on the kid on the other side of the table. "You okay?"

Sam didn't look up. He was trying desperately to control his stomach. He didn't want to throw up on the table and make a bigger mess than he already had just by his presence.

"Sam?" Bobby's words forced Dean to look over at his brother. "What's wrong?"

Sam couldn't answer. If he opened his mouth, he'd vomit right there. He let go of the fork, and shook his head. He swallowed again. "Please-" was all he said.

Yeah, it was one of Sam's bad days. Dean had figured that out when he first entered the living room, and now he had the proof -- his little brother puked up the contents of his meal before Dean could get the garbage can in place.

After cleaning the floor and Sam up again, Dean guided his brother upstairs, putting him into the bed furthest from the door. Sam hid under the covers, curled up onto his side, and fell asleep almost instantly.

Dean sat on his own bed for a while, watching the lump under the covers and the way the sheets moved when Sam breathed. Yeah, it was a pretty bad day...

After a couple of minutes, he let out a sigh, rubbed his face and headed back downstairs. Even with the circumstances, he was still starving, and he figured he had two choices: eat or faint like a girl. Since he had to take care of his little brother, now more than ever he needed to look after himself. Eating it is, he thought.

Dean thought about the day. It had been one of Sam's really bad ones. Sam had just sat there, staring into nothing, seemingly completely lost. Just a shell of what he had once been. On days like this, it was harder to get through to him to do anything except sit and stare at nothing, or lie down and stare at the ceiling.

These were the things that dragged the demon's words back into his memory... what he'll do to himself... not supposed to last much longer... Dean had tried to get everything he could out of the chick he'd tortured in the barn. All she could tell him was, "They made sure that as soon as the job was done and he gave the meat suit back, that's when your brother's life ends. Even if through some miracle you survive, your brother ain't gonna."

It was worrisome.

"...They made sure..." How could the demons be sure Sam would die when the demon smoked out? Sam was still around, and after all he'd been through, he seemed to be doing pretty well.

Dean needed to talk to Bobby about it. He was kind of an all-knowing resource when it came to stuff like this.

The former hunter was in front of the stove, re-heating and stirring the chili for the older of his adopted sons. Without looking at Dean, he ordered, "Get me another beer while this is warming up."

"What happened to the chicken?" the younger man questioned with a faint grin. Bobby just shrugged.

The older Winchester went silent for a moment. He was exhausted. There was nothing he wanted more than to go to sleep, get some rest, and be with his little brother when he woke up.

"There's something the demon said, Bobby," Dean started. Bobby stopped stirring the pot. "She told me Sam was supposed to die."

Bobby's shoulders fell as he turned around to face Dean. "Well, she could've meant your brother's injuries -- we had Castiel, and he fixed him halfway. Otherwise he wouldn't be here."

Dean nodded thoughtfully, still concerned. "I know, but... she seemed so damn sure about it -- 'he wasn't supposed to survive either way', is what she said."

Bobby frowned. "You think we've got a curse on our hands?"

"I don't wanna bet that it's not. I know demons lie, but on the other hand, I don't wanna risk anything." Dean rubbed his palms over his face. "They've messed enough with Sam's head. I just don't wanna lose him, Bobby. I can't lose him like this, not again -- not because of a demon."

"You won't lose Sam, boy. We won't lose him period. It was just a bad day," Bobby said calmly, filling a bowl with the warmed-up chili for Dean. "You were out in the barn and Sam had been looking for you since yesterday night. He was waiting for you. After everything he's been through, he's doin' pretty good. Sure he's still a mess, but no one's gonna blame him for that. I say we wait and see how it goes. If we get any hints of anything, we'll find a solution. But as long as we don't know what kind of -- or if -- something supernatural is goin' on, we can't do anything."

Dean nodded and dug into the thick goop with his spoon. The beans were overcooked, but he was too tired to care.

* * *

He should've done it days ago.

Everything seemed crystal clear now. Something had been telling him to do it all along. No, not "something" -- himself. Now that the voices had stopped and there was silence, any thoughts he had were his own. No one was locking him into that dark corner in his mind.

He knew if he did this, he had to do it right. He remembered what Lucifer had told him: he would fix him if he died; he'd bring him back no matter what because he was Lucifer's vessel...

But was he really able to do that? Could he really put his vessel together again? Sam wasn't sure about it, he honestly wasn't. Lucifer shouldn't even be able to find him, right? With the sigils burned into his ribs, no angel would be able to track him down now. And of course, when he died, they'd burn his body. There'd be nothing left but ashes, and Sam doubted even Lucifer could rebuild him out of dust... out of nothing.

It wasn't like he really wanted to do it, but he felt like a burden. And at least this way he would die as a hunter, the way he was meant to. He would have a hunter's funeral. He deserved that.

Sam knew where Dean kept the Vicodin and all the other good stuff -- the stuff that would make it easier for him to do what he should've done right after he'd realized he was more of a burden for his brother and friends than anything else.

He'd already wrapped his mind around this idea... now he just had to do it right.

* * *

Three days later...

Dean came out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam following him as he walked into the bedroom, fully clothed. He'd expected his brother to still be asleep, but he wasn't. In fact, Sam was sitting on his bed, watching him, when he emerged.

The past days had been good. More than just good. Sam had improved further. He seemed calmer and steadier than before. His little brother had also gained some weight, was more alert and he had stopped crying. He still wasn't talking, but Dean was sure his brother would get over that. It might take Sam a little bit longer, but he was sure that he would talk when he was able to. But Dean also knew all too well that talking meant answering questions -- obviously -- and Sam didn't seem to want that yet.

Dean grinned widely as he looked at his little brother. "Ready for breakfast?" he asked, fetching his wallet from his bedside table. "I'll be back in about an hour or two."

Sam nodded. He was ready, all right... as ready he ever would be.

The younger Winchester stood up and stepped towards his sibling, pulling him into a tight hug. "Goodbye, Dean," he whispered, grasping the back of his shirt in a death grip. "I love you, big brother."

Dean froze, swallowed hard. Sam was talking...

Sam was talking. After so long, his first real words -- not crying, not sobbing, not just apologizing, not hesitating. His first clear words.

Dean smiled gently. "I love you too, Sam."


	11. Take Me Home

Chapter 11 ~ Take Me Home

They had barely any food at the house and Rufus wasn't back yet, so Dean had made a run for supplies. Bobby's house was comfortable, but sometimes he needed to get out. And since Sam was seeming to do better every day -- damn it, this morning he had talked, really talked to him, said "Goodbye, Dean" and "I love you, big brother", more than Dean had thought he would ever hear again. It was special, this day was special, and a part of him wanted to celebrate.

But then again... The words his little brother had picked for his real first words were majorly odd. A slightly uncomfortable feeling began to build in Dean's gut. The way Sam had said the words was just... weird. Dean couldn't put his finger on it, but he let it run on a never-ending loop in his mind as he shopped, muttering about it to himself the whole drive back.

Dean skipped the gas station. There was enough in the tank to get back to Bobby's, and his gut was telling him now to hurry.

At Bobby's house, Dean's slammed on the breaks and hurried inside, banging the front door open as he entered.

"Dean?" Bobby asked, confused. "Something wrong?"

The older Winchester panted out, "Where's Sam?"

"He came downstairs about an hour ago. Said he wanted to go outside and take a walk in the yard. Why?" As Bobby spoke, the former hunter realized something was off. Sam hadn't ever left the house since he woken up after the attack, but today... today the kid had been different. He was smiling in a way he hadn't in the past weeks, at least not that Bobby could remember. And then there was the calm, "Thank you... for everything" out of Sam's mouth as he'd pulled the old man into a bear hug...

"You don't think-" Bobby swallowed, growing pale. "He wouldn't..."

"How long has he been gone?" Dean asked.

Bobby took a look at his watch before he answered, "About forty-five minutes..."

With a curse, Dean ran outside again. The yard was big. No, scratch that, it was huge and his brother could be anywhere, doing anything...

He should've known something was wrong. It wasn't normal for Sam to have improved so much seemingly overnight. Or... had Sam improved because he was planning to do this?

No time to think about that now; Dean could torture himself over it later if he didn't find his little brother in time. A part of him still hoped he was wrong, that Sam was only out for a walk. But Dean honestly doubted that, considering the way Sam had been clinging to him and refusing to follow his big brother outside -- not to mention the panic attacks the kid had when Dean went outside without telling him.

"What are we looking for?" Bobby asked, rolling up beside Dean in the middle of the junkyard.

"Anything." Dean swallowed hard. "Anything that's not normal. Sam ain't stupid, Bobby. If he wanted to do something like that, he'd make it clever. That's why he waited until I left for a supply run." The knot in his throat grew with every second wasted.

Then... Dean listened hard. Tried to ignore the birds and the cold wind whistling through the car wrecks. Was that music?

Damn it, Dean knew the song. It was the one that played on the radio during that first hunt after their reunion four years ago -- "Rambling Man." Dean would recognize it at anywhere.

The older Winchester decided that now was the time to panic, because he knew what that meant. He knew why Sam had been different and calmer the past few days. He'd been planning this.

It was Sam's way of saying farewell to him.

"Bobby?" Dean whispered, "You hear that?"

"That song?" Bobby whispered back.

Dean frowned. "Where's the last car you brought in here that still has a working battery?"

"An old Chevy truck. It's around the next car block. Still had its battery and everything."

* * *

There it was, just like Bobby had said. The truck was in the front row, topped by an old Buick.

The music was coming from there, definitely. Dean's eyes narrowed as he recognized angel banishing sigils and other symbols painted on the outside and windows of the truck. Without hesitating, he tried to open the door on the driver seat where Sam sat. The younger Winchester looked unconscious and pale -- deadly pale...

The door wouldn't open; Sam had locked himself inside the vehicle. Through the window, Dean could see a pill bottle and a water bottle on the passenger's seat... and blood.

Blood everywhere.

It was covering his brother's lower arms, his clothes and the truck. He'd cut his wrists open, and there was still blood seeping out of the wounds.

He couldn't be too late... he wouldn't lose his little brother like this. Never.

"Cas!" Dean screamed, looking around for something heavy and big. "Cas, damn it!" He found a metal pipe a couple of feet away.

"What the hell are you doing, boy?" Bobby tried to stop him verbally. "You'll hurt him!"

Dean didn't listen. He didn't have time to come up with another plan. Glass shattered under the blow, and Dean threw the pipe away immediately.

Castiel arrived a couple of feet away from the car. It took him just a split second to figure out what was going on. He waited until Dean had unlocked the car from the inside and slammed the door open.

The older Winchester pressed his fingers to Sam's neck, frantically searching for a pulse. Seconds that seemed like eons elapsed until he felt a weak, unsteady thump under his fingers.

Dean laid his other hand on Sam's cheek. He shuddered with the cold of Sam's skin and his shallow, nearly unnoticeable breaths. "Damn it, Sam!" he cursed, eying the gashes that ran from Sam's elbows to his wrists.

This couldn't be happening. Everything had seemed okay with the kid lately. This just couldn't be happening.

For a moment, the older Winchester couldn't move. He knelt there, frozen, shocked to death, watching his little brother die.

"Let me handle this." Castiel's voice cut through Dean's racing thoughts. Then the angel stepped closer and pulled Dean aside so he could lay a hand on Sam's forehead. Within seconds, the cuts healed up until just the blood remained on the skin.

"I'll take him inside." Cas and Dean's brother vanished with a fluttering noise.

Dean still knelt on the cold ground, shivering. His breath hitched in a sob as he realized what the angel had said. It took him a couple of minutes more to understand what had just happened, what his little brother had done.

...what he had done to himself...

"Rambling Man" still played in the background as Dean got to his feet. As soon as Sam was back among the conscious, he was going to kick the hell out of him no matter what shape he was in. He'd beat him up, he thought, and then call Cas to fix him just so he could beat him up a second time, for what he'd just tried to do.

"We should go inside." Bobby sounded calm, but worried, and mostly shocked at the thought of how fast it could've been over. Sam dead and Dean broken... He would've lost both of his boys; he was sure that Dean wouldn't have been able to get over it. Sam dying on a hunt was much more comforting than Sam dying because of a curse or whatever had caused him to do this.

Or, worst of all, if there was no curse. If Sam had simply tried to kill himself just because he wanted to die.

* * *

Back in the house...

Dean hurried upstairs -- Castiel obviously hadn't put Sam on the living room couch -- and found them in the bedroom they'd been sharing.

The angel was sitting on the bed furthest from the door, watching the youngest Winchester. Sam was unconscious, still pale, still covered in his own blood. More worrisome was the fact that he was still out for the count... although Dean figured that last one wasn't such a bad thing, since he probably would've already started yelling at Sam for even thinking about doing this.

Castiel looked up and fixed on Dean's gaze, deep blue eyes meeting Dean's emerald green ones. "I can't bring him back."

"What do you mean, you can't bring him back?" Dean took a deep breath. "You're a freaking angel, Cas. Sure you can!"

Castiel sighed and stood up to face the older Winchester, reminding him that he was indeed an angel of the Lord. He might be disconnected from heaven, but he was still an angel, and should be addressed with respect. Castiel knew Dean, knew why he was talking the way he was, but sometimes Cas had to make his point clear. Although, given the circumstances, he would forgive the human for being rude.

"I can't heal him, Dean, because he doesn't want to be healed." Castiel stepped closer. "I'm sorry."

"What?" Dean looked in those deep blue eyes questioningly. "Can't you do anything?"

"You know my powers are limited -- now even more, since I am disconnected from heaven. It's in Sam's own hands now." Castiel pressed his lips together. He'd seen a thousand times how hard it was for humans to lose someone they loved, even if he still didn't understand it properly.

"I am sorry I cannot do more for you both. I will not go until he has made his decision." Castiel sat down on the other bed and renewed his watch over Sam.

Dean's gaze fell on his brother. Sam looked like he was fast asleep, his clothes still soaked through with his own blood. He was pale, but his breathing was strong.

"There's nothing to decide," Dean snarled. "He's alive, isn't he? He's supposed to wake up, Cas."

The angel looked up. "I'm referring to the things I've seen in his mind, Dean. It's more complex than you think -- I can't explain it to you. Your knowledge is too small to even understand a glimpse of it."

"Try." Dean stepped closer to Sam's bed. He wanted to sit there -- to brush back the sweat-soaked bangs of his brother's face, to hold him and beg him to come back, to say that they would fix this somehow, that no matter what, they would fix this together... But he couldn't. He just couldn't hold him and tell him that. Not after Sam had decided to leave him alone in this world full of monsters, and much worse -- humans.

"What did you see in that geek brain of his?"

Castiel sighed. "I told you." He looked up at the older Winchester. "I can't explain it to-"

Then the angel's gaze sharpened, and he jumped up from his seat. "But -- I can show you."

Before Dean knew what had happened, he found himself in front of Bobby's house, the angel at his side. It was night, darkest night. There was just enough illumination to make out the house, the veranda and a silhouette that was probably the entrance.

"Where the hell are we, Cas?" Dean tore his glance away from the house to Castiel.

"This is where Sam is," Castiel answered lowly.

"This?" Dean swallowed. Yeah, it was still Bobby's house, but what was with the darkness? Was this how Sam felt every day? Was this where Sam went when he zoned out of everything? Was this the place where he felt safer than in the world out there?

Dean's stomach turned upside down. He had to close his eyes for a moment before nausea overtook him.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, to steady him. "Try the basement," Cas said. "I think that's where he is."

Castiel let go of his friend's shoulder. "Aren't you comin'?" Dean asked, taking another look at the house.

Castiel shook his head. "I don't think Sam would be comfortable with that." He looked over at his human friend. "I will wait here."

Dean nodded and took a deep breath.


	12. The End Of The Road

Chapter 12 ~ The End of The Road

It was almost as dark inside the house as it was outside. Candlelight flickered when he entered, painting the rooms in a soft orange-red, as if it were shortly before sunset. Everything was in the exact same place as in Bobby's house. Just the mess was different -- books, some whole, some torn apart, lay scattered all over the place. Dean had to take care not to stumble over anything on his way to the basement.

The door stood wide open, and he hesitated in front of the stairs. What was he supposed to do?

The older sibling scanned the small rooms and corners of the basement until he found himself in front of the panic room. The heavy door was locked from the outside and smeared with blood -- fresh blood.

A cold shiver ran down Dean's spine when he slid the latch back. He hesitated again, unsure of what he would find. What was he supposed to say when he found his little brother? But no matter whether he wanted to do this, he had to handle it -- and fast. Before Sam made a decision he couldn't undo.

The heavy door opened with a creak. Inside, it looked the way it had years ago, when they were fighting the witnesses during the breaking seals. It looked like Sam's withdrawal from the demon blood had never happened in there.

Dozens of candles bathed the room in a warm glow, but despite them, it was ice cold. When Dean exhaled in the air it steamed, and his lungs stung with each deep breath.

He looked around, searching for a familiar shape. Then his gaze fell on a part of the room that seemed like it wasn't meant to be lit by the candlelight. It was dark there, almost like the night outside -- like an endless darkness that swallowed everything that came near it.

"Sam?" Dean asked warily. "Sammy? Come out... I know you're here."

"You shouldn't be here." The voice that emanated from that darkest of all shadows sounded broken and sad. "Dean, please... go away."

"I can't, Sam." Dean tried to sound steady, even though his voice broke. Something told him to just go in there and pull his little brother out, whether he wanted it or not -- to just grab him and drag him out of there, out of this damn house, and kick his ass for putting them both in this situation.

But he couldn't.

It would be wrong, all sorts of wrong. His little brother was damaged and hurt in ways he probably couldn't even imagine.

Dean Winchester knew pain. He knew what it meant to be torn and tortured; he'd been in Hell. But he also knew that the pain in Hell felt different, all sorts of different, so in some ways, he couldn't imagine what Sam felt right now, and he knew that, too.

"You won't like what you see," his brother said sadly.

"I don't care, Sam." Dean was on the verge of crying. "All I wanna see is my little brother. No matter how broken, torn and hurtin' you are." His eyes filled with tears and he swallowed down a sob. "You're all I have left, Sammy. I'm not giving up that easily."

Seconds passed, and then something moved in the darkness. Finally, a shape emerged. Dean's little brother.

Bloodied. Bruised. Broken.

It was like all the wounds those bastards had caused had never healed, and worse. Raw flesh and blood glistened in the candles' flickering light. Deep cuts ran from his elbows down to his wrists. His clothes were torn and dirty, and there was blood on his bare feet. Veiled hazel-green eyes flashed under his unkempt dark hair.

Dean swallowed hard as he forced himself to look at his brother. "I can't let you go like this, Sam. I can't. What happened was all sorts of wrong. What I said to you was all sorts of wrong." Dean held up a hand, stopping Sam before he could say something. "Just listen, okay?"

Sam nodded, fresh blood dripping down from his fingertips onto the floor.

"I was so wrong when I was mad at you, man. Deep down, I was mad at myself. I was so damn angry at everything, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I love you, Sam. You're my brother, and I won't just let you go. I won't leave you here all on your own."

The older Winchester gestured at the room. "You deserve better than this, Sammy. You did good, you know? I don't know if I would've made it this far after all you'd been through... I honestly don't."

Dean took a deep breath. "I just want you to know -- I'm begging you, don't give up this easily, because I can't-I can't do this without you. I don't want to do this without you. I need you, Sam. We're keeping each other human. You're what's keeping me human."

He swallowed another sob. "I can't face what's out there when you're not around, Sam. I'll be waiting for you -- whenever you're ready, whenever you decide to come back, I'll be there for you no matter what. No matter how long it takes. No matter what it takes. I need you out there, with me, Sammy."

In a few fast steps, the older Winchester stood in front of his brother and enclosed him in a tight hug. Sam responded to it hesitantly.

"There ain't no me if there ain't no you," Dean whispered gently and backed away, leaving Bobby's house and Sam's mind, and finding himself once again in the armchair beside his brother's bed.

"Dean, are you all right?" The angel stood behind him, concerned.

Dean shook his head. "Thank you, Cas." Tears stung in his eyes, but only a single tear rolled down his cheek and chin, ending in an eternal fall...

* * *

Minutes passed away. Hours. Days.

Dean hadn't left his little brother's side. He'd promised him to be there when he came back -- if he decided to come back -- and he wasn't going to let him down. Never again...

The angel had "left" Dean days ago, only to remain in the corner of the small room, invisible to human senses, watching over both Winchesters like a guardian angel. Maybe it was because he was worried. Or maybe... maybe it was because he'd started to understand what it meant to be human.

Dean had almost given up on the smallest glimpse of hope in him when he looked up one day and saw Sam's green-hazel eyes looking back at him, lips curled up in a smile.

This was it. It was the beginning of a long journey, but they would take it together. They would face every creature formed by Heaven or Hell, because together they were stronger... stronger than they'd ever know.

~ The End ~


End file.
